Day of the TimeMage
by Argonaut57
Summary: Harry Potter, Minister of Magic, lies badly-injured and close to death in a secret location. The Black Council prepare their final act - the extinction of all non-magical humans. Ron leads old friends and unexpected allies in a race against time. Nyarlathotep and Yog-Sothoth wait beyond the Veil. Can the mysterious Deacon help?
1. Chapter 1

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part One**

 _The Monolith, Skaro, Stardate 4557.36_

This place was different, the Eternal noted. Yes, there were the wide, curving ramps and sliding doors of a Dalek facility. But the harsh white lighting was replaced by a yellow-orange light that flickered like fire. The omnipresent throbbing hum of other Dalek places was absent. The workstations it had seen carried books and scrolls as often as they did computer terminals, and many of the artefacts scattered around seemed more decorative than functional. More importantly, the walls, ceilings and floors were not metal, but carved from the living rock of this, the largest mountain on Skaro. The Wizards had said they needed to be in touch with naturally-occurring materials for their unique abilities to function optimally, but here, by accident or design, they had created for themselves a fortress more impenetrable than even the Citadel of Davros.

Three of the green Wizard Daleks approached it then. "Foll-ow." One said, and they proceeded further into the bowels of the mountain.

This chamber was more familiar, white-lit, and containing devices of a recognisably technological nature, including a tank of clear green liquid. Nearby, surrounded by more Wizards, was a Dalek that the Eternal recognised. This was the original, the first Wizard, distinguished from its' fellows only by a jagged scar on its dome, just above the eyestalk – a relic of some long-ago battle it had refused to have repaired.

It was this Dalek that spoke to the Eternal. "We are rea-dy." It said. "But we must know why you re-quest-ed this."

This was the way of the Wizards, to question orders where no other Dalek would. They had explained that, if their abilities were to be correctly used, they needed to know why they were being ordered to do a specific thing. The Wizard went on.

"Our Di-vine-ers have told us that this is nec-ess-ary for the fu-ture of the Da-leks. But they do not see as far as you, it is not their func-tion.

"It is your func-tion to map Time. Do your or-ders come from the Su-preme?"

"I serve the Da-leks." The Eternal replied. "That may not al-ways mean ser-ving the Su-preme. There are mat-ters the Su-preme is not con-cerned with. They are not its' func-tion."

"We under-stand." The Wizard agreed. "We will be-gin."

It opened its casing, revealing the Kaled Mutant within. It looked the same as any other, except that its' single eye was a vivid green, and held an expression no other Kaled had. Another Wizard reached in and removed a small sample of skin. The casing closed. The sample was taken to another device and inserted into it. The Wizard began to manipulate the controls.

"The gen-e-tic mani-pul-ations must be pre-cise." The scarred Wizard explained. "The ess-ence must be pure. The grow-ing pro-cess will be sim-ple. In-ser-tion will in-volve risk. There are ma-ny ran-dom el-e-ments."

"To deal with ran-dom el-e-ments is your func-tion." The Eternal pointed out. "And mine."

 _Sickbay, SHIELD Heli-Carrier 'Potomac' 16_ _th_ _July 2042_

Harry came up through layers of unfolding blackness into disorientingly bright light. A strip-lighted metal ceiling above, a reasonably comfortable bed below. Discomfort in his left arm suggested an IV. Weird. This wasn't St Mungos' -wizards couldn't cure that curse, so muggles shouldn't have been able to! But this was undoubtedly a muggle facility. The overriding smell of antiseptic confirmed it.

Harry turned his head, as much to make sure he actually could as to look around. He felt a little weak, but not incapacitated. A figure was sitting in a chair by the bed. Harry blinked to try and focus – he didn't have his glasses on, of course. Tall, by the look of him, and thin. Long brown hair, a predatory, hawklike face and a pair of piercing, disturbingly familiar, green eyes. Harry tried to speak, but his mouth and throat were bone-dry, and all that came out was a croak.

The man leaned forward, taking something from a stand nearby. Harry felt a tube being inserted between his lips and the stranger spoke in a smooth baritone. "Drink." He said. "Not too much, now! Good to have you back with us, Harry."

The water was not overly cool, but it did the job. "Where am I?" Harry managed to ask.

"In the sickbay of a SHIELD heli-carrier, about half-way across the US." The man told him. "We're headed for London, so you'll have plenty of time to get your strength back and up to speed. Everybody thinks you're dead, by the way."

"Oh, wonderful!" Harry groaned. "That's three times, now! 'Master of Death' is just a _title_ , you know, not a bloody professional qualification!

"Anyway, who the fuck – pardon me – are you?"

The man gave a thin smile. "Ah!" He said. "That's the complicated bit!"

 _Ministry of Magic, London, 28_ _th_ _June 2042_

"Denzil Bablake, _Daily Prophet_ ," The reporter introduced himself. "Colonel Potter, is it true that the so-called Black Council no longer exists?"

"That would be an exaggeration." Harry told him. "Recent strikes by Aurors in several countries, with the support of WAND and UNIT wizard staff, have to all intents and purposes eliminated their so-called 'covens', or active units. At the same time, their 'circles', or intelligence-gathering units, have been rolled up by Whitelighter squads. They are, to all intents and purposes, blind, deaf and helpless.

"Yes, Mrs Krum?"

"Colonel Potter." Ginny said, a slight smile on her face. "Anyone who knows you could infer from that answer that you still consider the Council a threat. Is this the case?"

"Most certainly." Harry replied. "Any group of powerful and disaffected Dark wizards will always be a threat. However, we are still actively engaged in seeking the principals out, and we will find them. Hopefully before they can regroup and cause any further damage.

"Young gentleman in the green robes?"

"Zacharias Tweedlebob, the _Quibbler_." Was the response. "Is it not the case, Colonel, that the Black Council are receiving aid from extra-dimensional entities?"

"We have no clear evidence of that." Harry replied. "It is true that among the suspects arrested, there are ritual magicians. It is also true that among their papers have been found rituals to summon such entities, commonly called 'demons'. So far, however, neither our Sensitives, nor the experts of the Brotherhood of the Sword, have detected any dimensional breaches, and we have not encountered any such entities. We will remain alert for such incursions.

"Mr Fudge?"

" _Minister_ Potter," Jeremiah Fudge emphasised his refusal to use Harry's UNIT rank, "the readership of the _Torch_ -along with a great many others -wish to know whether or not you will acknowledge that the disaffection of the Black Council, and its' attraction of so many adherents, is almost entirely due to your continued policy of denigrating and abolishing traditional wizard values and culture?"

"Considering that that has never been part of my policy," Harry said, "I can scarcely acknowledge it. It is true that some years ago, certain standards were promulgated by this Ministry for the proper treatment of sapient magical species. In this we lagged behind our fellow-wizards in the United States, who legislated such standards – and indeed went further in the matter of House-elves – in the 1860s

"That certain advances in magical techniques have evolved to mirror muggle technology was not an act of policy, but inevitable given the yearly influx of Newblood wizards into our world. History -both muggle and wizard – shows that such advances invariably drive a degree of cultural change. But participation in such change is entirely the choice of the individual. You don't have to buy a Talk-Mirror, or a scrying glass tuned to Wizard TV or the Wizarding Web. Nor is it compulsory to marry outside the wizard community, or to send wizard children to muggle primary schools. Many choose to do these things, many do not. I have no policy on the matter and my views are that people can live their lives as they choose, within the law.

"You have a supplementary?"

"I do, Minister." Fudge said. "If you do respect our ways so much, why do you continually allow and encourage muggle interference? Especially as the Black Council is an entirely magical matter?"

"You should check your facts, Jeremiah." Harry told him. "Every action that has been taken in this campaign has been taken by wizards: Aurors, Whitelighters and Council Wardens. Some of the wizard operatives, it is true, work for organisations such as SHIELDs' Wizardry, Alchemy and Necromancy Department, or for UNIT Phoenix and Basilisk teams. But although the parent organisations are primarily muggle-run, these sections are entirely magical in their focus and staffing, with the exception of administrative support.

"In this context, I might point out that the lack of fatalities in the Explosion Hex incident at the Leaky Cauldron last month was entirely due to the prompt and professional actions of the muggle Emergency Services and the muggle doctors at various Accident and Emergency departments. Given that the Hex destroyed the Disillusionment Charm that hid the target from muggles, we were not in a position to act quickly without risking exposure. As it is, the numerous muggles involved have all had their memories altered, so that we remain secure.

"Any more questions? Mrs Krum?"

"Colonel," Ginny said, straight-faced, "is it your considered opinion, along with everyone else, that the editor of the _Daily Torch_ has his head _really_ far up his arse?"

"You might say that," Harry replied with equal seriousness, "but I couldn't possibly comment!"

"I hate bloody press conferences!" Harry growled. "Whose idea was it to have them, anyway?"

"Yours." James Potter told his father. "Part of your transparency and accountability policy. Now come on. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron are waiting in the side-alley. You're getting your weekend off, Dad, before you get any grouchier!"

"Some weekend off, with you hovering around. Don't you have anything else to do, like running Whitelighter Branch?" Harry grumbled.

"Dave's got that." James said easily. "Dennis posted me as your bodyguard, old man, and I'm sticking by you until the shitstorm settles. Unless Gabbi's going to be about? Mum still wants to know if you two are serious."

"She is, and we're not." Harry stated. "I think the phrase is 'friends with benefits', if your mother really needs to know."

"Fuck-buddies. Got it." James said. "Well, Gabs is as lethal as they come, so I'll let her look after you."

"You know, I _can_ look after myself!" Harry protested.

"That's the issue." James told him. "You're about as close to being a force of nature as it gets, Dad. You 'look after yourself' and it takes a week to clean up the mess! You need a bodyguard to protect the bad guys from you – a Wizard of Mass Destruction, Dennis calls you.

"There they are!"

Hermione and Ron were waiting by their car near the street end – Harry was to have dinner with them – waving. Harry and James began to walk toward them, when it started.

Some kind of portal – an arch of blue light – appeared in front of them, and three figures jumped out, brandishing wands.

James took one down at once with a lightning Stun Hex, But another had targeted Harry, yelling " _Avada Kedavra_!". Everything seemed to slow down for Harry. He could see the jet of green light coming for him and had time to think _Not now!_ before a black shape swooped down, intercepted the curse and fell to the ground with a croak.

As time regained its usual momentum, Harry realised that the shape was his pet raven, Quoth. His rage-fuelled, silent, Killing Curse sent its target the length of the alley.

Meanwhile, having parried a Stun Hex from the third assailant, James had fallen foul of a heavy _Impedimenta_ that had slammed him into the wall, winding him. Harry had time to recognise the attacker as Cormac McLaggen before he heard " _Cor lapis!_ ".

A deadly cold spread through his body, and his legs went from under him.

Ron's long legs had covered the distance in seconds, but not quite fast enough.

" _McLaggen!"_ He roared. Cormac spun and Ron disarmed him with a flick of his wand, before dropping it and closing with him.

Cormac McLaggen was a big, powerful man, but Ron was bigger, angrier and trained in Krav Maga. McLaggen went down with a scream that almost drowned out the sound of snapping bones.

Then the alley was full of Whitelighters. James ordered them sharply to get the live attackers into custody, then joined Ron and Hermione where Harry lay.

Holding Harry's head in her lap, Hermione looked up with a tear-stained face. "StoneHeart Curse," she said in a choked voice, "there's nothing we can do. He's dying."

"Oh, no he isn't!" This was a new voice, a rich alto. "Not after all this! Not if I can help it!"

Ron felt himself pushed aside by a strength that easily surpassed his own, and a woman dropped to her knees beside Harry. She was tall and perfectly formed, wearing an outfit of black material that covered her from throat to heel, but fitted like a second skin. A mane of equally black hair fell halfway down her back, and she had a sensual oval face dominated by fierce golden eyes. She grabbed a locket that hung at her neck and held it in front of Harrys' face.

"Harry!" She said. " _Harry!_ Look at this! Look and _remember_!"

Harry was conscious. The cruelty of the StoneHeart Curse was that it killed slowly, painfully, and that the victim remained awake and aware until the very end. But Harry had felt pain before, had overcome it before. He peered at the locket. There was something, something _familiar_. His eyes widened. _Of course!_ He thought.

The locket opened, apparently by itself, and a flood of golden light shone in Harrys' face. It lasted perhaps fifteen seconds before going out, but in that time, he _changed_. His face and body flowed like warm wax into a different form. A short, stocky, rather plump man with short-cropped silver hair and a round, cherubic face. The eyes, however, remained the same penetrating green.

"Sil? How did you…?" The voice was a light tenor.

"Never mind." The woman said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes and no." The man got to his feet. Then James levelled his wand.

"Dad?" He asked. "Is that you? Did you Transfigure yourself? Or are you somebody pretending to be Dad? Who's she?"

"Too many questions, too little time!" The man said irritably. He lifted his hand, it was glowing with more of the golden light. He clenched it, and seemed to make an effort, the golden light faded. "Suffice to say, young man, that I was me, then I was Harry, now I'm me again but in a very short time I shall be someone else.

"Sil, I've purged the curse, but it's taken too much out of me. I'm regenerating, it can't happen here, but I don't think I can hold it much longer."

"Here, let me…" The woman called Sil stepped forward, but he stopped her with a gesture. "Not this time. That last change took too much power, you've barely enough to function. You need to get back as much as I do.

"You – James! You're a Whitelighter, aren't you? I need you to Orb us to Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement, right away!"

"I can't take you _into_ the Room." James said doubtfully. "It's always in flux unless somebody's in there.

"Besides, I don't know if I can trust you. Where's my father?"

"Young man, if you want to know the truth about Harry Potter, I'm the only one who can tell you!" The man snapped.

"We're coming, too." Ron spoke in a tone that brooked no denial. The old man simply nodded.

"All right." James said. "All right."

 _DuMorne Estate, Louisiana, 28_ _th_ _June, 2042_

"You are sure?" Justin DuMorne was a tall, saturnine man with a penchant for elaborate black and gold robes.

"Oh, I'm sure, all right!" Jeremiah Fudge told him. "McLaggen cast a StoneHeart Curse and it went home. If Potter isn't already dead, he will be within an hour or two. Depends how strong he is. There's no countercharm or potion that will purge that curse."

"And you say none of our people got out?" DuMorne asked.

"Afraid not." Jeremiah shrugged. "James Potter stunned Simpkins right off, Potter killed Denacre, and that big brute Ron Weasley got McLaggen. Multiple injuries, by the sound of it. McLaggen is the only real loss, especially given what he knows."

"Which in any event, is not enough to help them." DuMorne stated. "Even if they bother to interrogate him, which I doubt. McLaggen is a thug, and thugs are ten a knut. For the rest, _c'est la guerre_. I do wish, though, that you had been able to remain to confirm Potter's death."

"So do I!" Jeremiah admitted. "Would've done me a world of good to watch him suffer. But by then the place was hip-deep in Whitelighters, and I had to get out before my charm was detected."

"Quite so." DuMorne allowed. "You have been, and still are, far too valuable an asset to lose, Jeremiah. When there are no longer any no-maj's in the world, and their damned technology has gone with them, our people will need leaders such as yourself. Men who can truly restore the old ways."

"Why Potter?" Jeremiah asked. "Not that he didn't deserve it, and not that he wasn't a threat, but I'd've thought your nephew, or Spardas' brats, would've been higher priority."

"Threat was not the issue." DuMorne explained. "At least, not on the individual level. My nephew is not only a Council Warden, and a wizard as powerful and clever as Potter, he is also the Winter Knight, and as such, rather more than our people could handle. Leave Harry Dresden to me!

"Dante Sparda, and his nephew Nero, are Demi-Nephilim, immune to most kinds of magic as well as no-maj weapons. They will need, and receive, special treatment in due course.

"More importantly, none of them are public figures, unlike Potter. This was not murder, but assassination, Jeremiah. By now, the word will have spread. Every Ministry and Bureau will be in lockdown. Whitelighter and Auror squads will be recalled from the field to guard officials and buildings. There will be investigations, internal inquiries, perhaps even purges. There will be panic, even among the White Council."

"And with panic, paralysis!" Jeremiah concluded. "Brilliant! We'll have all the time we need!

"But will this affect WAND and UNIT?"

"Only marginally." DuMorne admitted. "But without backing from wizard authorities, their numbers are few and their magical resources limited.

"The only remaining threat is Stephen Strange, but even if our ally Mordo cannot stop him, he can delay him long enough for us to do what we plan.

"Come, old friend, it is time we went East!"

"As the Archmage commands." Jeremiah said with a smile.

 _Hogwarts Castle, 28_ _th_ _June, 2042_

James Orbed them to precisely in front of the wall where the main door to the Room of Requirement could be found. Not that there weren't other doors. They tended to appear where needed. But this one was the only one where the person wishing to enter could decide what sort of room they needed.

"We need the place where things are stored." The old man said.

Ron concentrated for a moment, and the door appeared. They went through, Sil taking the lead. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, taking them to a large, rather sinister-looking cabinet made of black oak.

"Don't recall seeing this before!" Ron said.

"I should hope not!" Sil replied. "I set the perception filter decades ago. You saw it, you just didn't notice it."

She produced a key and fitted it into the door. It opened, and light shone out into the Room, accompanied by a faint hum. Ron, Hermione and James exchanged glances. Things were starting to make sense. At Sils' gesture, they went in.

As they expected, the space inside was much larger than it should have been. Stairs and ramps indicated that there were even more spaces to be found. The hexagonal control desk was there, as well, with the piston-like cylinder in the centre. But the walls were covered with some kind of symbols, arranged in what seemed to Hermione to be complex equations. There were also ornate mirrors and other devices of an obviously magical nature scattered around the place.

"This is a TARDIS!" Hermione announced. "You're a TimeLord. Was – is- Harry a TimeLord?"

"Not exactly." The old man said. Then his hands, and this time his face, began to glow again. "Stand back!" He commanded. "I've never done this before, and I'm late! There's a lot of build-up…."

He threw his head back and flung out his arms to the side. Streams of golden energy poured out of him. James was about to throw up a shield when he saw that the console and the walls seemed to be sucking eagerly at the energy, drawing it in and absorbing it.

The same was happening to Sil, who was arching her body and writhing in a manner that made even Hermione feel rather hot under the collar.

The figure at the centre of it all seemed to stretch, growing taller and thinner. Then something happened to the face, and he gave a cry that was half-pain, half-triumph. The golden glow was snuffed out. Ron noticed that the lights were now brighter, the hum deeper.

Where there had been a short, plump, elderly man there now stood a very different figure. Tall -a good three inches taller than Ron, six-and-a-half feet at least. Thin, but not weak-looking, in his late thirties at most. Long brown hair framed a face with a strong jaw, a straight, thin-lipped mouth, a high forehead and a fierce beak of a nose. But the eyes were unchanged, a vivid green, intense and piercing.

"Whoa!" He said in a smooth baritone. "That was a head-rush! Sil, are you all right?"

"Never better." She replied. "All the regeneration energy you were throwing about recharged me nicely. Helped the TARDIS, too."

"You _are_ a TimeLord!" Hermione said.

"Not exactly, as I told you." He replied. "Look, not every inhabitant of Gallifrey is a TimeLord. As in the majority of intelligent races, most are muggles but some are wizards.

"Now at the age of eight, certain Gallifreyan children who have shown the right aptitude are allowed to look into the Untempered Schism. That's a gap in the fabric of reality from which the whole of the Vortex can be seen. From that point on -if they survive and stay sane – the muggle children become TimeLords. But the wizard children become TimeMages.

"I'm a TimeMage." He looked at his arm – several inches of wiry arm and wrist protruded from the sleeve of the robe. "A TimeMage who needs a change of clothes - robes are forgiving, but there are limits.

"Sil, get this heap to Cardiff. The regeneration energy helped, but she needs a good charge. Back in a minute."

He disappeared up a flight of steps. Sil busied herself at the console. The piston began to rise and fall, and a whooshing, groaning sound filled the air for a few seconds.

"That should do it." She muttered, half to herself. "Two in the morning, perception filter set. Good four hours charge should be all she needs."

"You were Quoth, weren't you?" Ron asked.

Sil looked at him. "Oh, you're clever!" She said. "How did you work that out?"

"Not so clever." Ron said. "I just notice things. I knew it was Quoth swooped down to block that Killing Curse. Hedwig did the same thing for Harry the night he left Privet Drive for good. We never found poor Hedwigs' body, so I wanted to make sure Quoth at least got a decent burial. But no body. You, on the other hand, appeared out of nowhere; no Apparation, you didn't Orb or come by port-key or portal, and not a Transmat, either.

"So, you must've been Quoth. Your boss and you were talking about you needing power, so I'd guess you're some kind of android or cyborg."

"Ron doesn't miss much." Hermione told Sil. "And yes, he's a lot brighter than he cracks on to be!"

Sil nodded. "You're right, I'm an android -organic but synthetic. I metabolise sunlight for power, or Vortex energy while I'm in the TARDIS. My name's short for 'Epsilon' – I'm the fifth version he built. I suppose the nearest thing you human wizards might have is a familiar spirit or a golem. I'm a bit of both.

"Yes, I was Quoth. I was also Hedwig, which is why you never found the body."

"So you're an android who can Transfigure herself? " James raised an eyebrow. "Impressive!"

"It's not Transfiguration." Sil told him. "My systems incorporate Qys technology. The Qys are – or were, they may be extinct now – an old, reclusive race of artists who specialised in creating new bodies for themselves that they could switch between at will. The spare bodies are kept in a pocket dimension centred here in the TARDIS, so the computers here can adapt them to whatever world we're on.

"I used a cat to keep an eye on Harry all those years at Privet Drive. Then the owl while he was at Hogwarts. But when Hedwig was killed, I had to switch to the raven, get out of here and find Harry. Took a couple of years, but I did it.

"Back in the alley, I had to do an immediate remote switch, and it took an awful lot of power."

"Just who is this TimeMage?" Hermione asked.

"You can call me 'the Deacon', or just Deacon." Said the TimeMage, coming down the stairs. He was now wearing a black velvet frock coat, black trousers and ankle-boots and a frilled white shirt. His hair was tied back in a pony-tail. As he approached the console, there was an urgent warbling sound and an object popped up out of a slot. The Deacon picked it up. It was a metal rod about nine inches long with a grip at one end and a globe at the other. As he examined it, the globe opened like a flower, revealing a crystal inside that scintillated with all kinds of colours.

"Wondered where that'd got to!" The Deacon said. "Had some upgrades, as well!"

"Well, she had to have something to occupy herself with for sixty years." Sil pointed out.

"What is it?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Ah, the eternal questions of Hermione Granger!" The Deacon said. "No, wait, you're Weasley now, aren't you?

"Anyway, this is a Probability Probe. It analyses the probability of what I want to make happen actually happening, detects and eliminates excess variables, and suppresses the Butterfly Effect. It does other things, but that's its' main function. You might call it a 'Quantum Screwdriver'.

"TimeMages use them instead of magic wands, just as we use equations instead of spells."

"ENOUGH!" James thundered, at the end of his patience. "Look, you great long streak of yesterdays' dishwater! I don't care if you're a TimeLord, a TimeMage or a tie me kangaroo down! What. The fuck. Happened. To my Dad?"

The look that came from those brilliant green eyes was chilling in its' familiarity. It was the look Harry used to give his children when they were an inch away from crossing the line. Even as a grown man, it stopped James in his tracks.

"Harry Potter," said the Deacon softly, "died from complications of bacterial meningitis on November the 13th 1980, at the age of three-and-a-half months. He was cremated here in the TARDIS by Sil, and his ashes were buried in a corner of the churchyard at Godrics' Hollow. His parents never knew. The only people who did were myself, Sil, a doctor named Sam Beckett and a staff nurse called Melody Pond.

"I suppose I owe you the whole story…"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part Two**

 _Borg Sphere 347, Delta Quadrant, Stardate 4558.10_

The new species had appeared out of nowhere. There was no record of its' having boarded the sphere, but the Collective ignored individuals. Unless they became a threat, and when the intruder attacked with a crude but effective energy weapon, the Collective reacted fast, assimilating it at once. A new species, not native to this quadrant. A report must be made to the Unicomplex.

The scarred Wizard watched everything in a scrying glass.

"Ass-im-il-a-tion is com-plete." It noted. "Pre-pare to se-cure the sphere for tem-por-al shift."

 _Weston General Hospital, Weston-Super-Mare, England, 13_ _th_ _November, 1980_

Leaping in always left Sam Beckett disoriented for a few moments, so it was fortunate that his current host was alone in the mens' room at the time. He looked at himself in the mirror. Medium height, slim, unremarkable face, mousy-brown hair. Wearing a white coat over a suit and tie, stethoscope sticking out of his top pocket.

"Ohh, boy!" He said. Not about being a doctor – he had a medical doctorate, he could recall that much – but because the leaps never sent him anywhere routine or easy. There was a name badge on the coat, which he took off and studied.

There was a logo that read 'NHS'. That was the British state Health Service, he knew. His hosts' name was Dr David Forsyth. Beyond that, it told him nothing. Then the Imaging Chamber door opened behind him and Al stepped through.

"Hey, Al." Sam said. "What you got for me this time?"

"Hey, Sam." Al replied, consulting his handset. "You're a doctor…"

"A British doctor, I know." Sam said. "I can read the badge! What am I doing here?"

"Well," Al said, squinting at the handset again, "Ziggy says you're a Pediatric Registrar at Weston General Hospital in Weston-Super-Mare. That's a town in England on the coast -vacation kinda place.

"She says you gotta help. That's all. Just, you have to help. Weird!"

"Dr Forsyth to Room Twenty-One, please. Dr Forsyth to Room Twenty-One."

"That's us!" Sam said.

Fortunately, the rooms were clearly labelled. Room 21 was a treatment room with a single occupant in the tiny bed. There was a nurse in the room, a curvaceous woman in her thirties with a round, sensual face, curly blonde hair and penetrating eyes. She gave Sam a look of frank approval that didn't seem to match what he knew his host looked like.

"Staff Nurse Melody Pond." She introduced herself. "This is a three-and-a-half month old boy named Harry James Potter. He developed a temperature and a rash yesterday. The parents seem to be some kind of hippies or something, because they treated him with assorted herbal mixtures. But then the rash started to turn septic and he began fitting, so they brought him in."

Sam examined the child. What had been a rash on the extremities was now pronounced necrosis over most of the limbs – they'd have to be amputated if the boy was to live. But a single check of the instruments told Sam there would be no point.

"He's only breathing because of the ventilator." Sam pointed out. "His EEG is all but flatlining – minimal to no brain activity." He shook his head. "I've never seen a case before, but this is advanced and severe bacterial meningitis with systemic inflammatory response. Blood coagulation in the limbs leading to blocked vessels and gangrene. Inflammation of the meninges along with the fitting and oxygen starvation causing severe brain damage.

"This poor kid is as good as gone already. About all I can do is ask the parents when they want to switch the ventilator off.

"Nurse Pond, can you clean him up and bandage the limbs? His parents will want to see him to say goodbye, let's not make it too upsetting for them." Sam was even sounding English, now.

Behind him, Al had been hammering away at his handset. "Sam, this isn't right! Ziggy says she has a record on Harry James Potter. Born 31st July 1980. Parents died in some kinda house fire on October 31st 1981. Taken in by his aunt and uncle. Went to some kinda special boarding school at eleven – Ziggy can't get anything on that. Dropped off the grid completely on his seventeenth birthday.

"Either this kid is a different Harry James Potter, or something really big has gone wrong! You don't usually arrive too late!"

"Excuse me, Doctor, may we have a moment of your time?"

Sam turned, two people had come into the room. In the lead was a short, plump, elderly man with short-cut silver grey hair and a cherubic face with piercing green eyes. He was wearing a heather-coloured tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows over a blue pullover and a white shirt, checked trousers and brogues. Behind him was a tall woman with dark hair, strange golden eyes in an oval face and a mane of black hair, clad in a black business suit.

"And you are?"

"Deakin, Dr Deakin. This is my associate, Dr Sill. My card, sir."

The card read: _Dr John Deakin, Paediatric Consultant, Harley Street, W1_. At least, that's what Sam saw. Al, reading over his shoulder, murmured, "That card's blank, Sam!"

Deakin seemed to hear the comment, because he looked straight past Sam into Als' eyes with a wry but fleeting grin. Then he looked back at Sam, and flicked his eyes toward Nurse Pond. Sam took the hint.

"Nurse, could you step outside for a moment?" He asked. "Dr Deakin and I need to consult."

"Of course, Doctor." She replied and withdrew. Dr Sill took up a post in front of the door – apparently to prevent interruptions. Dr Deakin looked Sam up and down, then said:

"I must admit I never expected to actually meet you, Dr Beckett. To find you here of all places was indeed a surprise, but may yet turn out to be a lifesaver!"

"Beckett?" Sam asked. "I don't know who you've got me mixed up with, but my name…"

"Is _not_ Dr David Forsyth!" Deakin snapped. "Young man, this is no time to insult my intelligence or to sell your own short! Anyone with half an eye can see through the temporal refraction of your 'host', and the presence of Admiral Calavicci is a clincher. In any event, we are well aware of Project Quantum Leap. Our Law of Non-Interference forbade us from putting a stop to it, but fortunately you have done no harm to established time-lines. Rather the reverse."

"Well," Sam said, "right now there isn't anything I can do here, unless you know something Al and Ziggy don't."

"Oh, I know a great many things they don't." Deakin said. Not boasting, just stating a fact. "I am also a time-traveller, but a professional, rather than a talented amateur like yourself. As for your Ziggy, ingenious as that primitive device may be, it can only calculate based on the data it has."

He approached the bed and gazed down at the dying boy. "I suspect the Universe of having a certain perverse sentience of its' own." He said. "Or there are other forces in play, here.

"This was meant to be a sentimental journey. At the end of this life-cycle, I felt the urge to make a pilgrimage to look in on this little one, to see him at play, perhaps, or happily in the arms of his parents. Instead, I find him dying and face one last task."

He turned to Sam again. "If this boy dies here, tonight, it will be the end of my family!"

"Well, it's too late for that." Sam said quietly. "There's no saving the poor kid. But his parents will surely have other children. They can't be that old. You'll have other descendants."

Deakin sighed. "I would have expected a seasoned time-traveller to be a trifle more imaginative. Other children, even from the same parents, would not fill the need. Dr Beckett, Harry James Potter is not my descendant, but my _ancestor_!

"Now, Dr Beckett, I must ask you to trust me. There is a way to save this boy, but it will involve techniques from a future time. I cannot – by the laws of my own time – allow you to see them. What I need you to do is to go and see this boys' parents, and assure them that he is receiving treatment, and that all will be well.

"Return here in forty-five minutes. The child will still need care, but by then he will be out of danger.

"Will you do this for me? Or if not for me, for little Harry?"

"I don't know, Sam." Al warned. "Ziggys' got nothing on these people, any of them!"

"I know, Al." Sam said. "But she did say I was here to help. If God is directing my leaps, then I must be here for a reason, and this may be it. Saving a kids' life can't be wrong, not ever!"

"Even if the kid grows up a mass-murderer?" Al asked. "Would you help Mr and Mrs Hitler save baby Adolf? Mr and Mrs Capone save baby Alphonse?"

"Yes." Sam said. "A baby is a baby, Al. How they grow up isn't in my hands, and isn't my fault. But letting a child – any child – die if I can help prevent it, would be!

"I'm trusting you, Dr Deakin. Don't let me down!"

When he returned, Sam felt vindicated, and even Al was less suspicious. The childs' mother – Mrs Lily Potter – had looked at him with eyes full of fear and hope. Eyes that were the same magnetic green as Deakins'.

Deakin had gone, but Dr Sill remained in the room, standing over the bed. One glance told Sam that his trust hadn't been misplaced. There was still an angry rash on the arms and legs, but they were no longer gangrenous. The baby was still feverish, but nothing that couldn't be dealt with easily. Little Harry was breathing by himself and the EEG showed normal brain activity.

"Dr Deakin apologises," said Dr Sill in a clear alto, "but he is very tired. He's no longer young, and the work takes it out of him. You'll need to keep treating the child, but as long as you follow sensible therapy, he should be fine in a few days."

With that, she left. Sam called Nurse Pond back in, and they set to work. Three days later, little Harry Potter left the hospital with his parents, and Sam leapt out.

Melody Pond made her way to the Nurses' Staff Room, which was empty. She opened her locker and took out a small. badge-like device which she activated.

"Temporal Corps." Said a dry voice.

"It's me." She said. "We were nearly right. Somebody did use the Chameleon Arch and replaced Harry Potter. But it was a TimeMage, not a TimeLord – and I do know the difference. He had help from the Leaper."

"Understood and thank you, Doctor." The voice replied. "That resolves a good many issues. We'll continue to monitor from here. Unfortunately, we cannot yet retrieve the Leaper."

"You won't until the Vorlons are done with him." She stated flatly. "Need me for anything else?"

"Not at this time. Thank you again. Temporal Corps out."

"You know where to find me." Melody Pond muttered sourly. Then she reached into the locker again and took out a small aerosol can, which she used to spray herself all over. This had the effect of transforming her nurses' uniform into something a good deal less starched and prim. Finally, the locker yielded an odd device which she secured round her wrist before manipulating some controls and vanishing.

 _The Deacons' TARDIS, Cardiff, Wales, June 29th, 2042_

"So you've been pretending to be my Dad almost his whole life?" James Potter said. "No, that's not right…You _are_ my Dad! It was you that married Mum and…you know… _fathered_ me!"

"Don't be stupid, lad!" The Deacon said. "Think about it! Would I have gone through all the shit your father went through if I'd been me? A TimeMage is as far beyond a human wizard as a TimeLord is beyond a muggle! I could've had Voldemort for breakfast by the time I was eleven!"

"He's right, Jimmy." Hermione said. "I think what he did was to turn his _physical_ form into an exact duplicate of your Dad as a baby. But his _personality_ was in the locket Sil had. Like a flash drive."

"Personality, memories _and_ original DNA structure." The Deacon corrected. "The baby was a blank sheet of paper, as all babies are. He grew up to be the man your father was, James, without any help from me, and it's his DNA you come from, not mine."

"Why not just clone Harry?" Ron asked. "Would've been simpler."

"Funnily enough, it was a matter of time." The Deacon said. "My personal time, that is. I'd been in that body for a long time – it was the one I was born with – and it was wearing out. It would have taken three-and-a-half months to grow a proper clone, even if I had the equipment in the TARDIS, which I don't. Force-grown clones are unstable, you know, shortened life-spans and developmental difficulties. So I'd've had to go into the future, grow the clone until it was the right age, then come back. Even if I'd come back to the hospital two minutes after I left, I'd still have spent those months myself, and I'd have had to regenerate. I'd have looked completely different – _been_ completely different. Couldn't have explained that to Beckett.

"Besides, I didn't want to regenerate, I was scared to. Becoming somebody else is a scary notion, and it's one even Gallifreyans aren't _born_ to. It isn't natural or instinctive, it comes from the Vortex -a side effect. Harry gave me an excuse to put it off, at least for his lifetime, maybe for good. But, of course, Sil wasn't about to let that happen, were you, Miss Bossy-Boots?"

"Definitely not!" Sil told him. "Do you think I wanted to be stuck on this primitive shit-hole of a planet with only a dying TARDIS for company?"

"Glad you like it here." Ron told her, earning a flashing grin. "Now look, I've never heard of this Beckett bloke, but we do know River Song. What was she up to?"

"Other than working for StarFleet Temporal Corps in the 31st Century?" Sil asked. "No idea. I recognised her as soon as we walked into the room, of course. Like your good lady, I have an eidetic memory. I was – quite literally – a fly on the wall when she reported in, but it didn't tell me much. Dr Song plays by her own rules, and sometimes, you just don't want to know what she's up to."

"As to Sam Beckett," the Deacon added, "he's a victim of his own ambition. He's put himself at the mercy of a species whose agenda and motivations are obscure at best."

"Which leaves one more question." James said. "How can you be descended from my family?"

The Deacon shrugged.

"In 2161, when the United Federation of Planets was incorporated, the wizards left Earth and started a colony in the Pyrrhus System. On Stardate 42996.5, the Federation starship _USS Enterprise_ under Captain Jean-Luc Picard accidentally breached the Fidelius Charm surrounding Pyrrhus and its neighbouring systems. They found a thriving wizard society which had recently achieved faster-than-light travel by magical means. On Stardate 43015.25 the Wizard starship _Gryffindor_ under Commodore James Potter commenced the first wizard-led galactic exploration mission.

"Twenty-five years later his son, Lt-Commander Draco Potter, had a brief but intense affair with a woman named Maria, who he thought was a human witch. She was actually a TimeMage, who was called back to Gallifrey at the onset of the Time-War, but found shortly after her return that she was pregnant. She was my grandmother.

"But enough history. We all have things to do, I'm sure. Whatever the Black Council is up to, it's not intended for our benefit!

"I'll bet you have a plan, Ron. Probably a cunning one?"

"So cunning if it had a brush it'd be a fox!" Ron told him. "One thing, before we go. Why d'you call yourself Deacon?"

The Deacon shrugged:

" _Outside - " Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!_

 _Inside - 'Brother," an' it doesn't do no 'arm._

 _We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,_

 _An' I was junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!"_

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "Are you a travelling man?" He asked.

"Yes, I am." The Deacon replied.

"How far have you travelled?" Ron returned.

"As far as a man may travel in a day, but not as far as I must." Was the answer.

"Master, Wizard Lodge Number 52, South-West of England." Ron announced.

"Extraplanetary Lodge Number 1045, Station Deep Space Nine, Master, Worf son of Mogh." The Deacon told him. They exchanged a handshake.

"Then we have an accord, Worshipful Brother." Ron said.

"We do indeed, Worshipful Master." The Deacon replied.

"Right!" Ron said. "Let's get started!"

They stepped out of the TARDIS into a cool, early summer morning. Nobody was about yet. Ron looked at the sky, and sniffed the air, like the country boy he was at heart.

"Nice day in the making!" He noted, pulling out his mirror. "Ernie? Everything on track?"

"Exactly as you wanted." Came Ernie McMillans' voice. "Your reservation is all set up, and they're waiting for you."

"Good. See you soon." Ron told him. Then he put away the mirror and took out a smart-phone on which he pressed a speed-dial number. When the answer came, he just said. "Here's one I made earlier." Then cut the call.

"Right, Jimmy!" He said. "Too much to explain now. Get yourself home and tell Caitlin you're going to be away for a few days. Pack a few things and meet us at Grimmauld Place."

"Dad sold that house years ago!" James protested.

"Yes, and I bought it last year, because you never know, do you?" Ron said. "You'll see. Now off you go, see you in a bit!"

Back in the TARDIS, Sil turned to the Deacon. "I take it we're sticking around for a bit?" She asked.

"So it would seem." He replied. "Family and all that.

"Be a love and make a call for me? Only I think we're going to need the Marine before this is over."

"The Doctor?" She asked.

The Deacon shook his head. "He'll know what to do. If River's involved, he's bound to be!

"Now, got to see a man about a wand. Next stop, Greenwich Village, New York." He set about manipulating the controls, carolling:

" _New York, New York, a wonderful town_

 _The Bronx is up and the Battery's down_

 _The people ride in a hole in the ground_

 _New York, New York, it's a wonderful town!"_

Sil began to wonder if this regeneration was going to be worth the trouble.

 _Greenwich Village, New York, June 29_ _th_ _2042_

Stephen Strange stood in the centre of an octagonal room lined with portraits. He was facing one of an old woman in peasant dress, standing outside a hut in a forest.

"It's matter of doing what's necessary, Stephen." She was saying. "The Veil grows thinner everywhere at the moment, and while your world may not suffer from Blights as mine does, there are worse dangers."

"You're right, Flemeth." Strange said. "But _is_ it necessary? Can the thing be done otherwise?"

"It must be!" The speaker was another portrait. A tall man, if a little bent with age, white-haired and bearded, wearing white robes and leaning on a staff. "This Wand you speak of holds the same power as the Ring did. It will twist the mind of the Bearer in its quest for its' master. It will corrupt him if he uses it, and he _will_ be forced to use it!"

"There you show your ignorance, Mithrandir." Flemeth said reprovingly. "Your Sauron used Red Lyrium in the making of his Ring. Red Lyrium, or Prismere if you will, is a psychoactive isotope. It causes hallucination and madness in those exposed to it. Sauron thought to use it to bind himself more closely to his Ring. It worked, but it made him mad, and in the end destroyed him."

"Flemeth is correct." This was the tall, blue-skinned alien woman. "The core of this Elder Wand is pure Element Zero. It allows the wielder to manipulate Dark Energy, true. But Dark Energy is not in and of itself evil. My own biotic powers use it, and I am not corrupt."

"You are asari, Justicar." Mithrandir replied. "Good and evil are not the same to you as to others, perhaps."

"Ain't about good and evil, you old duffer!" This was the tall, elderly woman in black, sitting in a upright chair next to a fire. "What's good for me ain't good for a Troll 'cause I ain't made of stone. But Right and Wrong -they're the same for everyone! Samara's a Justicar – she deals in justice, in Right and Wrong. You were a soldier in a war, Mr Gandalf, and according to you, you was good and the other side was evil. Them Orcs might've had a different opinion, if you'd asked 'em.

"But the lad, here, he knows Right and Wrong, and so does the other one."

"Mistress Weatherwax makes, as always, a good point." The speaker was a tall, slender figure in baroque black armour, with bone-white skin and burning crimson eyes. "Many there were who called me evil, because they did not understand the ways of my people.

"But in this matter, it needs to be said that the power of that Wand is needed. Just as Dark Energy is needed to breach the Veil, so it will be needed to seal it."

"You of all folk should know, Elric, that this Dark Energy is not to be trusted." Mithrandir argued. "Your blade betrayed you in the end, and it was a thing of Dark Energy."

"But it was also a living thing." Elric countered. "A being with its own will and agenda, bound to the blade. It is not so with the Wand.

"Your people fought a long war against Melkor and his adherents because they chose a different path from you, Mithrandir. Those who know of that war know only what your allies and servants chose to tell them, and they knew only what _you_ chose to tell them. History is written by the victors, after all. Who now can know the truth of Melkor and Sauron?"

Mithrandir fell silent then. Strange turned to another portrait. "What do you say, my old master?"

Yan, the Ancient One, was portrayed seated in meditation against a backdrop of stars. Now he opened his eyes and looked at Strange as he used to look at his student.

"Even now, Stephen, the Other Ones push at the Veil." He said. "They do not think, or know, or perceive as we do. They hunger, and they are aware in their way that the traps they have laid for the unwary have been triggered. Even if they themselves are prevented, their outriders, their minions, will still come. It is too late to stop that, my apprentice. The power you speak of is the only thing that can seal the breach now."

"Dormammus' attack distracted me." Strange said bitterly. "Had I paid more attention to matters here…"

"The world would have fallen to Dormammu!" The Ancient One snapped. "His attack was no feint, Stephen. He is as much a tool of the Other Ones as this Black Council. The Elder Wand would have had no power over him, and nor would its' Master."

"There's the nub of the matter." Flemeth said. "The Chosen One became the Master of the Elder Wand. Was it fate or chance? I can never decide.

"But what can be done, must be done, Stephen. You know this. And you know he can be trusted with the burden."

Strange sighed, and turned to the final portrait. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a blue and gold costume, wearing a golden helm that covered his face.

"What of you, my friend?" He asked. "What has Fate to say of all this?"

Dr Fate shrugged. "I am the Fate of my world, Stephen, not yours. I cannot know how things will or must go with you. This only I can promise. The thinning of the Veil is not wholly to our disadvantage. If I can send help, I will."

Strange thanked them all, then left. Counsel was useful, but talk would only take you so far. Doing had to begin, and as he heard the whirring, groaning sound in the hall below, Stephen Strange knew it was time.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part Three**

 _Dalek Saucer, Near-Earth Orbit, September 15_ _th_ _2009_

The Eternal and the scarred Wizard watched from the central station of the bridge as the sphere flew apart. The blue Strategist Dalek tuned from its' command station and reported.

"The hu-mans have de-tec-ted the ex-plo-sion. They will send one of their Star-gate craft to in-vest-i-gate."

"In-sert the sub-ject." Ordered the Eternal.

"I o-bey." The Strategist turned back to its station.

"The hu-mans are cu-ri-ous and com-pass-ion-ate." The Wizard said. "They will keep the sub-ject safe. They will stu-dy it, but they will care for it al-so. It will be rea-dy when it is nee-ded."

"Yes." The Eternal replied. "But now we must re-turn to Ska-ro. There is much to do be-fore we are rea-dy."

 _Earth Battlecruiser "Achilles", near-Earth orbit, September 15_ _th_ _2009_

Teal'c examined the pod carefully. "This is no technology I am familiar with." He noted in his usual unruffled tones. "It is not Gou'a'ould or Ori. You say there is a life-form within?"

A member of the ships' medical staff responded. "There's _something_ alive in there. Mostly human as far as we can tell."

" _Mostly_ human?" Teal'c asked, but there was no time for an answer. The pod, standing upright in the middle of the room, suddenly opened with a hiss of escaping air. The figure inside was indeed humanoid, and appeared to be connected to the pod by a number of wires and hoses, which unclipped themselves as Teal'c watched, retreating into the casing and allowing the figure to step out.

Tall, apparently male and seemingly human, but heavily cyborged. Dressed in black armour-like clothing, the left eye replaced by some kind of implant and the left arm ending in a tool-like attachment. The head was hairless, the skin grey-white and slick-looking. The single remaining eye was dark and expressionless. He looked Teal'c up and down.

"Species 7425. Unsuitable for assimilation due to unstable internal symbiote. Irrelevant." He looked about him at the other crew-members. "Species 5618. We are the Borg. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile…." His voice trailed off, and he cocked his head as if listening, then said, without changing his inflectionless tone. "I am alone. Contact with the Collective is severed. Survival protocol engaged."

He turned back to Teal'c. "I am your prisoner. I will comply with all instructions. My designation is Five of Seven."

 _Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, 30_ _th_ _June 2042_

The house he grew up in looked much the same from outside, James Potter noted, except that he had to concentrate to see it – he'd walked past it once. No Fidelius Charm this time – something subtler – the muggles passing by didn't see it at all, he guessed, but it was less obvious than a missing number.

He knocked at the door. A quiet but clear female voice commanded "Identify."

"James Potter, Ministry of Magic, Whitelighter Branch." He replied, in default of a password or code. He felt himself being scanned by some kind of spell -Whitelighter training did that for you. Then the voice said. "Confirmed." There was a click, and the door swung open.

The hall was barer than he recalled from his childhood – most of the furniture had been distributed among the family and the rest sold. It was occupied, though. There were two guards on the front door, in UNIT battledress, the Basilisk badges indicating they were members of one of UNITs' Wizard Assault Teams. More guards were stationed in front of the other doors. People were coming and going – some in uniform, some not – moving unhurriedly, but with purpose. One of them approached James directly, a willowy brunette in WAND uniform.

"Mr James Potter?" She asked in the distinctive drawl of the Southern United States. "The Colonel's waitin'. If y'all would follah me?"

James couldn't help glancing at a certain spot on the wall as he passed it.

"Somethin' important there?" The young woman asked.

"Used to be." James told her. "Portrait of some loopy old bat. She was the mother of the guy who left the house to Dad, I think. She was always yelling at him that he wasn't a true Black and had no right to live here. Used to call Mum a blood-traitor as well. But she really used to play merry Hell when Aunt 'Mione visited – screaming about filthy Mudbloods and what-have-you. It was magicked to the wall so we couldn't take it down. But then – must be more than thirty years back – Uncle Dante just ripped it down and took about six square feet of wall with it. Dante and our old House-elf took it down to the cellar, but I never found out what became of it."

"Well, Ah declare!" She replied. James winced.

"What's your name?" He asked. "And please lose the accent! If you want to make me underestimate you, you need to do better than that!"

She grinned at him, and when she replied, it was with a more muted accent. "Agent Jennie-Marie Harding." She told him. "And most of my folks still talk like that, back home! The accent usually works on Americans, makes them think I'm just some dumb redneck. Doesn't work on you Brits, though. Can't figure out why."

It was James' turn to grin. "We specialise in accents." He told her. "How does that song go? 'An Englishmans' way of speaking absolutely classifies him. The moment he speaks he makes some other Englishman despise him!'

"Listening to how a person speaks, in this country, can literally tell you everything about them. Where they come from, what sort of school they went to, what kind of job they do, even how old they are. It also means we can tell when somebody's laying it on a bit thick. Uncle Ron does it all the time with that slow, West Country thing. He sounds all local yokel, village idiot, but he's got a mind like a rapier!"

"Now that, I do know!" Jennie-Marie replied. "Director Malfoy assigned me as WAND liaison for the operation, so I get to see your uncle work. It's an education on how to come out of left field!"

"There's an operation going on?" James asked.

"Biggest one I ever saw!" She declared. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your uncle had been planning this for years!"

"He probably has." James told her. "He's that kind of bloke. Whole bloody world's one big chessboard to him, and he's always three moves ahead!"

By now they had entered what used to be the Library, but was now clearly some kind of Communications centre. The wall were lined with computers and Scrying glasses, and at the centre of the room was a large globe. There were people here in UNIT, SHIELD, Auror, Whitelighter and Warden uniforms. They were monitoring screens and mirrors, and conveying what they saw or heard to a group of wizards standing around the globe, who proceeded to move magical markers around.

At the far end of the room was a raised area, surrounded by larger screens and mirrors. Facing them was Uncle Ron, in UNIT battledress, Aunt Hermione, in muggle-style civilian clothes (she loathed uniform), his cousin Rosie, Nero Sparda, a man and a woman he didn't recognise and – smiling and holding out her arms….

"Aunt River!" James said, hugging her tight. "It's been a long time! What have you been up to? Or daren't I ask?"

"This and that." River replied easily. "Let me look at you. Married life seems to suit you, and you're still the image of your grandfather. How are Caitlin and the kids?"

"A handful. Each." He admitted. "But it seems your dealings with my family go back further than I thought…?"

"And forward further than you imagine." She told him. "You're important, all of you. Lots of people are keeping eyes on you."

"And I if ask any more, you'll just say 'no spoilers', I suppose?" James shook his head. "If it's OK with you, I'll give the time-travel thing a miss! Makes things too complicated."

At that point, Ron turned. "There you are, Jimmy. C'mere a minute while I finish this call."

One of the mirrors showed a life-size image of James' younger brother Albus, Headmaster of Hogwarts. There was a strong family resemblance between the brothers. The same thin, strong-boned face, the same mass of untidy raven hair. But while James had inherited the powerful, rangy Weasley build and blue eyes, Albus was whipcord slender and wiry as his father had been, and had the same vivid green eyes. There was a woman beside him, tall, dark and sensual, her clasped hands resting on his shoulder.

"OK, so what were you saying, Albus?" Ron said.

"Hi, Jim." Albus said. "Right, well the whole school is in lockdown, Uncle Ron. You're right, we have a lot of kids from important families here, so we don't need any hostage-taking. At least not by the other side! The merfolk have the lake and river covered. As to the land boundaries, it seems Hagrid has some friends in the Dark Forest he never mentioned. Ents, he calls them, like walking trees and stronger than Trolls. There are about fifteen of them, but there are others with them, they call them Huorns and they're moving trees that hide themselves in shadow. They're planted all along the boundaries now, a couple of hundred of them. Nothing's getting through that way without heavy muggle weapons -seems Ents and Huorns are pretty much immune to magic. Then Hagrid has hippogriffs and thestrals flying air patrols.

"As for inside, the House-elves know every nook and cranny in the Castle, the secret passages were all collapsed years ago and Neville has trained Triffids patrolling the grounds."

"Neville's trained _Triffids_?" Hermione was flabbergasted. "That man is _impossible_! How does he do it?"

Albus shrugged. "You know Uncle Neville." He said. "Lots of people talk to plants, but he's the one the plants talk back to!"

"What about internal subversion?" Ron wanted to know. "A lot of the kids there have parents who read, or even finance, the _Daily Torch_. Some of them could be working for the Black Council."

"Tish has that in hand." Albus said. "Don't you, _cara mia_?"

Morticia Addams Potter was uncannily like her grandmother, and every bit as subtly formidable. "But of course, _mon cher_." She purred. "We've sent all the parents letters explaining that we have their children safe, and reminding them that the best way to keep them so is for the parents to carry on as normal, and not allow their natural anxiety to push them into doing anything silly. Those who know will understand perfectly."

"I'll just bet they will!" Ron approved. "OK, I'll let you two get back to it then! Report in at the usual times. HQ out."

"Hello, Jimmy." Hermione said, then shook her head despairingly. "Has there ever been a male Potter who could keep their hair tidy?"

"Hark at who's talking!" Rose said as she engulfed her cousin in a bone-crushing hug.

Hermione pushed uselessly at her own bushy mane and complained. "Ronald! Kindly speak to your disrespectful daughter!"

"How come she's always _my_ daughter when she's giving you gyp?" Ron wanted to know. James glanced at the six-foot-three redhead who was grinning unabashed at both her parents, and thought that there was no way of mistaking exactly _whose_ daughter she was! Rose turned to him and said gently.

"I'm so sorry about Uncle Harry, Jim."

He shrugged. "I'll mourn him when I've time to grieve, I suppose. Al and Lil are the same, I think. Mum's in bits about it, according to Caitlin, but she's not up to her neck in this mess. But thanks, cuz.

"Hi Nero, how's Uncle Dante?"

"Kickin' ass an' takin' names, like always, pal." Nero shook hands. "This is gonna be one almighty slug-fest, if Ron's right about things!"

"Nero's our liaison with the Temple of the Sword." Ron explained. "You've met Jennie-Marie, of course, and Rosie is here on behalf of Avengers Branch – between them they've got SHIELD covered. This is Harry Dresden, our White Council Liaison."

"They call me 'the other Harry', over here." Dresden said with a quiet smile. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Potter." He was a very tall man – six-feet-nine, according to the files James had read – with a slightly hangdog face and penetrating eyes. He wore a long leather duster and carried a staff.

"And this is our UNIT liaison, Captain Tali DiNozzo." Ron said, indicating a tall, graceful young woman with dark hair, piercing blue eyes and an easy smile. She took James' extended hand in both of hers.

"Good to meet you, James." She said in a light American accent. "Your Dad knew my folks from before I was born."

He looked at her a moment, then said "You're Tony DiNozzos' girl?"

She nodded. "Yep. He was kinda pissed when I joined UNIT instead of SHIELD, but he got over it."

Then another -very familiar - voice said. "Jimmy!"

He turned and his sister threw herself into his arms. They hugged tightly for a moment, then she pulled back to look up into his face. "All right?" She asked.

"I'll live." He replied. "Though certain other people might not."

She nodded – Lily Potter Malfoy was a woman of few words. She might be a virtual carbon copy of her mother in looks, but there was a set to her jaw and a look in her eye that was pure Harry. Her husband, Scorpius, contented himself with gripping James' hand, briefly but firmly.

"Right, now everyone's here, let's get going!" Ron said. "First off, the official story is that Harry was the victim of an assassination attempt. We're saying for now that he was badly injured and is being treated at a secret location, for fear of another attempt. Ernie is now Acting Minister.

"We're reacting as the opposition expect us to react. Scurrying around, protecting important people, pulling operatives out of the field onto security, and so on. At least, that's how it looks on the surface.

"In actual fact, we're using the chaos as a cover to move various units to mobile platforms. Primarily UNIT and SHIELD Heli-carriers, which are being moved to strategic positions around the world. As of an hour from now we can have boots on the ground anywhere on Earth within forty minutes and reinforce them within ninety. We also have rapid deployment capability from two SGC spacecraft in orbit.

"All we need to do is find out what the Black Council are up to and where they're doing it. But right now, the ball is in their court."

"That said, we're not just sitting about." Hermione said. "Did you bring it, Scorpius?"

"Got it here!" Scorpius held up a wand. "You do realise that technically, this is evidence?"

"Not once somebody's done a _Prior Incantatem_ on it." Hermione said. "Give it to Dr Song, will you? River, shouldn't your lift be here by now?"

"That man is _never_ on time!" River noted dourly.

"That's my Dads' wand!" James said. "What do you want with it?"

At that moment, the room was filled with a whirring, groaning sound that caught everyone's attention. Not many there had heard it before, but they all knew what it meant, and watched with mingled hope and trepidation as the blue Police box materialised close to where River was standing.

"Tell me, Jimmy," River said as if nothing had happened. "do you know what the core of this wand is?"

"A Phoenix feather." James replied. "Everybody knows that!"

"And yet," River pointed out, "nobody ever thought to ask why? Considering just what it is Phoenixes are famous for?"

With that, she turned on her heel and went into the TARDIS, which promptly dematerialised.

 _Greenwich Village, New York, June 30_ _th_ _2042_

Stephen Strange knew his house intimately - the fact that almost every item in it was highly magical made that essential – so the appearance of an extra cabinet, no matter how well it matched the others, was what is called a 'dead giveaway'. Nevertheless, he remained on guard as the two figures stepped out.

"Dr Strange, I presume?" Said the tall, hawk-faced man.

"Yes, and you are the TimeMage?" Strange replied.

"Call me Deacon." The man grinned, then asked. "You have it?"

"I have." Strange went over to a small table and took a wooden box from it. "It was brought to me some months ago by a Ms Donovan, who described herself as a Regent of Warehouse 14. She told me that Harry Potter placed it in their care decades ago, but that 'the time had come'. The time for what, she couldn't say.

"Naturally, I examined the item -I have to be careful what comes into this house – and was surprised to find the so-called Elder Wand."

"So-called?" The Deacon asked.

"Indeed." Strange answered. "The wood it is made of does superficially resemble elder, but is in fact not native to this dimension. It comes from a place called Thedas, where it is known as 'ironbark' and is highly prized by the Dalish Elves and the Formari – Mage craftmasters -of that realm.

"Also, while legend has it that the core of this wand is thestral hair, I found it to be crystalline in nature. Specifically a rare mineral known in various Realms as lyrium, Element Zero, or blue prismere.

"All of which tells me that though this wand can be used for magic – indeed exceptionally powerful magic – its' primary function is to generate and channel Dark Energy when exposed to the bio-electric field of any individual to whom it is attuned.

"Now the wand is currently attuned to one Harry James Potter. A fact I find puzzling, since, to my knowledge, Harry Potter is either dead or gravely injured at the hands of another wizard. I would have expected the wand to change its' allegiance, but it remains attuned to Harry. How does that happen?"

"Because things have got complicated." The Deacon replied. "I'd say by accident, or coincidence, but we've both of us been around too long to believe in either of those. At least where items like this wand are concerned."

"That I can understand." Strange allowed. "I must also bear in mind that any apparent fatality is at best doubtful when the victim is widely known as the Master of Death."

He handed the box over. "Tell Harry to use it wisely."

"We've yet to see if he can use it at all!" The Deacon pointed out. "I expect you'll be joining the festivities?"

"In due course." Strange said. "I have things to do here, first."

"Naturally." The Deacon acknowledged. "Don't want Dormammu sneaking through the back door while Yog-Sothoth is breaking the front one down, do we?

"See you later, Dr Strange."

He nodded, then went back into his TARDIS. Strange watched it dematerialise, then shook his head. Having three rogue TimeLords wandering the Universe was worrying enough. A TimeMage, however, took things to a completely different level.

 _Castle Ferenczy, Transylvania, June 30_ _th_ _2042_

"These people clearly do not know their history." Count Dracula stated.

The tall dark woman standing beside him on the heap of rubble smiled grimly.

"They tend to ignore what they call muggle or no-Maj history, Vlad. They only know and care about what you've done since your Undeath. Your penchant for strategic retreat followed by return in force was a hallmark of your living career."

"I suppose they wouldn't have considered a muggle a threat, Mina." Dracula pointed out. "The more fool them! If we hadn't worked so hard to put our house in order over the last two centuries, these muggles would have made the Black Court history! One only needs to note the near-extinction of the Red Court since UNIT found out about them to know that."

They took one last look at Castle Dracula in the distance, then climbed down off the rubble and made for the entrance to the catacombs. Mina took his arm in the manner of an old friend.

"I knew you'd have a bolt-hole nearby, of course." She remarked. "You always do. You led Jonathan and the others a merry dance around London all those years ago. But how did you know they were coming? Or rather, how did you know to have look-outs and magical warnings ready? You got out clean, without losing anyone, which means you must have had advanced warning."

Dracula shrugged. "That arrogant fool DuMorne approached me, of course. He proposed an alliance between the Black Court and his Black Council. I've not spent hundreds of years brokering a fragile peace between our kind and humans, just to throw it all away on the word of one mad wizard.

"The man is clearly psychotic. What he told me of his proposal was enough for me to know he's hell-bent on suicide and taking the rest of us with him. His problem is that he himself doesn't realise it. He thinks he can bargain with or control the Other Ones. He needs to be stopped."

"But why take your castle?" Mina asked. "Why not just destroy it and us?"

"Not enough manpower." The Count explained. "At least to take us all down. They had a plot to undermine the various magical governments of the major nations. Unfortunately for them, the British part of it blew up in their faces and Harry Potter became Minister of Magic. The domino effect that ensued cost the Black Council all its gains across the world, and the subsequent campaign led by the White Council put most of their troops and agents either in custody or the graveyard There's the Council itself and about a hundred troops – all hardened duellists and killers – left.

"As to the Castle, it dominates the Borgo Pass. Any large ground force will need to get past it to attack Schloss Orlok, and that's where their main base is. We should have blown that place after we threw HYDRA out, but there seemed no need with Orlok himself gone.

"Come, Mina! Let us go and make use of the equipment my friend Draco Malfoy has loaned us. Our people in America should be ready to report back soon."

 _DuMorne Estate, Lousiana, June 30_ _th_ _2042_

"That went well." Ken Stein murmured to himself. But he slapped a new magazine in to his SHIELD-issue bolt-gun, just in case.

The ballroom was a mess. Overturned furniture, smashed windows, and bodies everywhere. Most of the bodies had been Zombies or Inferi, but a few were wizards and a couple had been Red Court Vampires. A tall, dark, handsome man entered the room and picked his way around the rubble to Ken.

"We lose anyone?" Ken asked.

Thomas Raith shook his head. "Some of my people are hungry, but New Orleans isn't far, so they'll be OK once they get there. A few of the Black Court people were injured, but the WAND medics have blood supplies, so they'll be OK. No injuries among the WAND personnel. We hit them too hard and too fast, I think."

It occurred to Ken that although the White Court Vampire strongly resembled his human half-brother, Harry Dresden, he managed to make the SHIELD combat gear look like high-end leisure wear. He shook his head. Being not quite human made him immune to Vampires in general, but the White Court variety gave him the creeps. Just a little too perfect.

He was slightly relieved when another man came down the stairs. A powerfully-built black man wearing a long coat and carrying a katana which he now slung across his back.

"Anything left, Blade?" He asked.

The Day-Walker shook his head. "All gone, pal. Most of the animated corpses shut down when the wizards died, the others just went berserk – half of them took the other half down and all we had to do was mop up. The WAND people are disabling the rest of the magical defences.

"Biggest trouble was those Red Court leeches, but it being daylight, they were vulnerable once we forced 'em out of the shadows."

"Well, we took out about fifteen wizards, which means the Council is down to maybe eighty-five fighters." Ken noted. "Should help a little."

"Guys!" This was a female voice, calling from a side room. "I think I got something!"

The room proved to be the Library – largely undamaged and empty apart form a single dead wizard and the matronly red-haired woman in WAND uniform who was poring over a mass of papers and books on the table.

"What's up, Willow?" Ken asked.

"I think I found out why the Black Council went to Transylvania." Willow Rosenberg announced. "By comparing DuMornes' notes and these texts with the stuff we have from the Temple of the Sword and Professor Crofts' work, I have to believe that Transylvania was what used to be Mordor!"

"Very symbolic, I suppose." Thomas remarked. "But it hardly makes them more, or less, dangerous, does it?"

"Well yes, it does." Willow said. "Look, we know now that the War of the Jewels, and the War of the Ring, were fought because the Valar opposed Melkors' use of Dark Energy. We don't know why, but that was the nub of it.

"But to use Dark Energy properly, you need a special mineral called lyrium – it has lots of names, but lyrium will do. Now lyrium is rare on Earth. It's only ever been found in three places. Angband in the north, where Melkor used to mine it; that's all under water and ice at the North Pole now. The second was Khazad-Dum, the great Dwarf city which we think was under the Alps, but is all gone now. The third place was Mount Doom in Mordor, and according to everything I've found here, Mount Doom is now the site of Schloss Orlok in the Carpathians."

"But that's not a volcano!" Blade protested. "I've been out that way, and there's no volcanoes there."

"There is magma, though." Ken said. "Remember, Willow, when we pushed HYDRA out of there? Vlad, Tesla, Vastra and I confronted Orlok in his workshop…."

"And it was a cave with a lava pit!" Willow said. "Of course, I am _so_ dumb! That chamber may be all that's left of the Sammath Naur – the Chambers of Fire where Sauron forged his Ring.

"And that means trouble, because the lyrium found in Mount Doom was Red Lyrium. It's more powerful than the blue stuff, but it drives you mad in the end. More to the point, if they find enough there – and it won't take much – and they have enough magic and the right rituals, they could punch a hole right through the Veil to almost anywhere in the Fifteen Planes!"

"That's not good!" Thomas declared. "There's nothing too dangerous in this Realm, but beyond that, things get nasty very quickly!"

"Then we need to get to the Comms truck and let Vlad and Draco know what's going on!" Ken decided.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part Four**

 _The Citadel, Skaro, Stardate 4563.50_

The Supreme was waiting for them, of course. It knew what had been done, but not why. It was the last obstacle. It was alone, it was afraid, but it faced them without flinching.

"You have be-trayed us." It said. "You have be-trayed the Da-leks. You have be-trayed our des-tiny."

"No." The Eternal said. "We have cho-sen our des-tiny from the choices avail-able. This is why I was cre-ated. To map Time. To ob-serve the fu-ture. To see the o-pen and the closed paths."

"And you have seen this trea-cher-y?" The Supreme asked.

"I see on-ly two paths." The Eternal answered. "From this mo-ment there are on-ly two. If we ab-an-don the path we have be-gun, the Da-leks will be ex-ter-min-ated, we will cease to ex-ist."

"And if we con-tin-ue?" The Supreme demanded.

"The path will be long." The Eternal admitted. "It will be hard. We must o-ver-come our-selves. We must o-ver-come the hat-red of o-thers. We must make a-mends. But this path leads to As-cen-sion."

"As-cen-sion is no lon-ger poss-i-ble." The Supreme declared.

"It was." The Wizard told it. "Un-til now. When Dav-ros cre-ated his Ka-led mu-tants his ig-nor-ance led him to tie the Da-leks to the Mun-dane Realm. When we were ad-ed to the New Par-a-digm, our conn-ect-ion to the Fade was re-est-ab-lished, and with it acc-ess to the High-er Realms. The old, in-fer-i-or Da-lek var-i-ants can-not do this. We can. All of us."

"But to As-cend we must sur-vive." Said the Strategist. "Time and a-gain we have come close to vic-tor-y, on-ly to be de-feat-ed. We have an-al-ysed all that the E-ter-nal has re-vealed to us. We can-not win. We can ne-ver win. A-lone a-gainst the U-ni-verse no spe-cies can. We must change or die."

"The Da-leks must sur-vive!" Said the Supreme.

"Then we must As-cend." Said the Eternal. "To be-come tru-ly the per-fect race. We must shed hat-red. We must un-der-stand that in-fer-i-or-ity is not a jus-tif-i-ca-tion for ex-ter-min-a-tion. We must learn com-pass-ion and friend-ship. As-cen-sion is the goal of all sen-ti-ent spe-cies."

"Then we must be-gin." Said the Supreme.

"Our ships are rea-dy." The Eternal said. "We must leave be-fore the o-thers be-come a-ware of what we have done. We will go far a-way, and be-gin a-new."

 _Triskelion 2, Colorado Plateau, July 1_ _st_ _2042_

"The only name he'll give us is 'Five of Seven'," Chief Medical Officer Howser was saying, "he answers to 'Five' but so far he hasn't accepted any of the other names we've suggested." He shook his greying head. "I'd have liked to have made at least some progress with this one before I retire, but unless you people have something…

"Anyway, here's what he looked like when we first got him."

"Looks like a cheap knock-off of a Cyberman." Amy Pond remarked.

"Well, that's more or less what the Borg are." The Doctor told her. "Their home planet was invaded by Mondasian Cybermen who decided the population weren't fit for upgrading. That upset some of them, so they decided to improve themselves until they were fit. Somewhere along the way, they came up with the idea that the best way to do that would be to assimilate other races and their technology. Then they stopped caring about becoming Cybermen and just went on assimilating."

"Nice people." Rory said dourly.

"They used to be." The Doctor agreed, earning a long-suffering look. "But this one's out of time. The Borg in this century haven't reached that level of development yet."

They looked back at the live feed. The room was Spartan, containing a chair, a table and a wall-mounted television set. In lieu of a bed, some kind of cabinet stood against one wall. There was a door in one corner which Dr Howser told them led to a bathroom.

"It took him a while to get the idea of showering, in fact they had to instruct him to do it." He recalled. "He feeds and rests by plugging himself into that cabinet for a few hours every couple days. We limit the power, just in case."

The person under discussion was sitting on the chair, apparently watching television. He was a tall, thin, humanoid – hairless, with a slick greyish skin, wearing a standard orange jumpsuit. The left eye was missing, replaced by some kind of lens.

"He had fewer actual bionics than they thought at first." Howser told them. "The armour came off easily, and the tool attachment actually fitted over his left hand rather than replacing it. Five told them that everything was modular, and that different armour, optics and tools could be put on for different tasks. When they asked why they hadn't simply removed his left hand, he told them that some tasks need two hands.

"Underneath that jumpsuit there are some ports and jacks that plug in to various organs. We think they're there to be connected to life-support gear or to control powered armour or mechs directly, as well as being power intakes.

"The biggest direct bionic is the optical gear in the left eye-socket. It's linked straight back to the visual cortex. We haven't removed it because it would leave him blind in that eye, and the tech isn't that much more advanced than similar things we already have. There are a couple of devices in his head – clamped onto rather than into his brain tissue. We think they have to do with programming and communication.

"Now, I could remove all the jacks and ports easily. We did take some out before, but while he recharges, they grow back. That's because his entire system is crawling with nano-machines. They're what make him a cyborg, not the armour and add-ons. They seem to run and maintain his entire system, and we can't take them out without killing him. They even seem to stop him aging. Other than that, there's high-tensile carbon-fibre running through his skeleton and muscles – makes him stronger, but nothing else, but we couldn't remove that, either.

"The optical and cerebral implants could also be removed – difficult but not impossible. But there's no way of knowing what those nano-machines are capable of, so there hasn't been any point. He's more interesting alive."

"People almost always are." The Doctor told him. "But right now he's more important than interesting. I can deal with the nano-probes if you can do the rest. Rory can assist – he's a nurse.

"But first, we have to see if it'll all be worth it, so let's go and talk to him, shall we?"

Five of Seven rose as they came into the room. He seemed unperturbed as he looked them up and down, until he came to the Doctor.

"Species 1245/A." He intoned. "Designation TimeLord. Impossible to assimilate. Potential threat extreme. Protocol: Avoid."

"That's the first time he'd given an alphanumeric species code." Howser noted. "Also the first time he's used an actual designation – name -for a species."

The Doctor nodded. "Gallifreyans are Species 1245. TimeLords – who've seen the Vortex and been changed - are 1245/A. 1245/B are TimeMages and 1245/C are WarLords."

"TimeMages and WarLords?" Amy glared at him. "You never mentioned those!"

"None of your business." He told her. "The WarLords are extinct anyway. You'll meet a TimeMage soon. They're really irritating -think they know everything."

"Pots and kettles, anybody?" Rory wanted to know.

"Shut up, Dad." River told him. "Leave my old man alone!"

That drew Fives' attention to her.

"Species unknown." He remarked impassively. "Hybrid, uncoded. Unknown potential."

"You have no idea!" River responded. "Recognise this?"

She held out what looked to Amy like a wooden stick about a foot long. Five of Seven took a hesitant step forward, then reached out slowly. River passed the stick to him. He examined it for a long moment: "Eleven inches," he said, with a wistful yearning in his voice that had never been heard before, "supple. Holly with a Phoenix-feather core." Suddenly, he waved it through the air with a graceful movement. A stream of red and gold sparks shot from the tip, describing a perfect circle that hung for a moment in front of him.

He looked at them, his formerly expressionless face now both haunted and eager. With a shock, Dr Howser realised that his organic right eye was no longer dark, but a vivid green.

"This is mine." He said quietly. "Help me! I don't…I can't...I am not…."

He collapsed to the floor.

"Well, you were right!" The Doctor told River. "This had better be worth all the trouble you caused doing it!"

"Oh, it will be, sweetie!" Said his wife. "It will be!"

 _12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 1_ _st_ _2042_

The jarring sound of the alarm klaxon had James out of bed and half-dressed before he was fully awake. As he carried on, Ron's voice came over the PA.

"Attention! This is a Code Black extradimensional incursion! All personnel to duty stations! This is not a drill!"

By this time James was out of his room and heading at a swift walk toward the Ops Room. Around him, other staff were moving quickly and purposefully. There was no panic, no running and no unnecessary talk. Clearly Uncle Ron ran a tight ship. James joined the group on the raised section of the Ops Room. Ron was taking a situation report.

"It seems to be some kind of magical field." Someone was saying. "Centred on Notre Dame but covering most of Central Paris. They came out of the cathedral and spread out, but they don't seem able to cross the barrier. Out people can't apparate or Orb though the barrier, but you can walk through it and it has no effect on muggle vehicles.

"The enemy seem to be an assortment of animal types and humanoids armed with melee weapons. No magic or projectile weapons in evidence so far. They're wandering around attacking people and doing a lot of damage, but they don't seem to have a coordinated strategy."

"Terror attack, fear for the sake of fear." Ron muttered. "Fuck! That was quick!

"Assets on the ground?"

"The Rue de Lotte is inside the circle, so the Bureau des Sorcieres is near Ground Zero. Our Whitelighters are assisting the gendarmerie in evacuating civilians, the Aurors are helping the CRS to try and clear the streets. The enemy are vulnerable to muggle weapons, but tough and resilient – small arms aren't making much of a dent, and there seem to be several hundreds of them. We also have a small force of Black Court Vampires and numerous _wesen_ of the more aggressive persuasion. They're not doing much more than slow the beasts down, though. It's a mess, Colonel."

"It's going to be a bigger one!" Ron promised. "Thanks, Paris. What have we got coming in?"

"UNIT air-carrier _Charles de Gaulle_ five minutes out." Reported another voice. "We have UNIT, SHIELD and WAND forces aboard. Who do we deploy?"

"Everybody!" Ron said grimly. "This is a full Code Black. Make sure the muggles have heavy weapons, and use light and medium mechs to set a moving perimeter. Try to contain and concentrate them."

"We've got a Warden section – platoon strength – based just outside Paris." Harry Dresden reported. "They're on their way, ten minutes, and bringing twenty White Court Vampires with them."

"That should do it." Ron decided. "Meanwhile, we need to saddle up and get to Notre Dame!"

"There's a quinjet on the roof, Dad." Rose announced. "I can have us in Paris in fifteen."

"Just a sec!" Lily said, opening a large metal case that had been on a table beside her. "Got some toys." She took out a large, heavy, metal glove armed with formidable spikes across the knuckles. "This is yours, Buggerlugs." She handed it to Scorpius who hefted it, then put it on.

"Is this what you told me about?" He asked.

"Klingon Battle-Mage Gauntlet." She replied. "Like a wand on steroids. Don't need to hold back for fear of breaking it. And if anybody gets too close, you can thump 'em with it and they'll stay down.

"James, try this!"

She tossed him a metal rod, about eight inches long and two in diameter. There was a clear white crystal on one end and small stud or button about half-way along.

"Came from an alien wizard who crashed here three years back. Called himself a Minbari. He was very old, died last year, but his magic was a lot like Whitelighter stuff. You should be able to use it. Press the stud."

James did, and the wand extended into a six-foot, perfectly-balanced, staff. "Blimey!" He said.

"Combination wand and fighting pike, he called it." Lily said. "Dad trained you with a bo, so you should be OK with it.

"And this is for me!" She began to fit something over her hand - a kind of skeleton glove. Wires connected metal fingertip covers to a strap that went round the hand, holding a disc against the palm.

"That's a Gou'a'ould hand device!" Said Ron, who had spent some time at SGC.

"Almost." Lily allowed. "Gou'a'ould sometimes possess wizards and can use their powers. This device is less techy than the standard kara kesh. Works on magic, not naquadah. SGC gave it to us because it's magic stuff."

"Right!" Ron said. "Major Kowalski, you're in charge here till I get back."

"Yessir!" Said the chunky American UNIT wizard officer.

"Do you have to go yourself, darling?" Hermione looked worried.

"Need to see the rift for myself, pet." Ron told her, "I've – _we've_ \- seen more weird stuff than most, and it might give us a clue."

"I want to come with you!" Hermione responded.

Ron shrugged. "There's a Majors' commission in your name on the desk in our room and a uniform in your size in the wardrobe. Sign up and get changed, and you can come. You know the rules, 'Mione. This isn't the old days, I'm not the Brigadier and you're not the Doctor. I can't take a civilian into a combat zone, not on an official job."

She shook her head. "I can't, Ron. My parents would never forgive me. The military represents everything they've opposed all their lives. Bad enough Rose joined the Avengers, if I joined UNIT as a soldier…."

"Exactly." Ron said. "It's a matter of principle. I understand and approve, but I've got a job to do, bab!"

"Then just you be fucking careful!" She snapped, then flung herself at him and hugged him hard. "If you die," she promised, "I'll study necromancy until I can bring you back to give you the bollocking of your life!"

 _Triskelion 2, Colorado Plateau, July 1st 2042_

Five of Seven looked oddly frail and pathetic as he lay on the operating table. Dr Howser had replaced the cranium as per the Doctors' instructions, but had not clamped it, merely pulled the scalp back over it. The empty socket where the optical array had been was clean, as were the wounds where the ports and jacks had been removed.

The Doctor now stood over the patient, playing the green light from his sonic screwdriver over him. What was going on, Dr Howser was far from sure. To complicate matters, a sudden groaning, whooshing sound filled the air, and a brand-new steel cabinet appeared in a corner of the theatre. A few moments later, two figures stepped out. A very tall hawk-featured man in black, and a statuesque woman, also in black.

"My Lord Doctor." Said the newcomer.

"My Lord Deacon." Replied the Doctor with a hint of sourness in his voice. "If I'd known what you'd done…."

"You'd have done nothing." The man addressed as Deacon said flatly. "Fixed point. Several of them in fact. When I realised the child was dying, I had no options."

"Oh, you did!" The Doctor snapped. "Any number!" Then he sighed, and his manner changed. "But I do understand. It was scary for me, the first time."

"Not to mention the fact," River put in, "that without the Deacons' regeneration energy, Harry wouldn't have survived Voldemorts' first attack, or come back from the one in the forest."

"Oh?" The Doctor shook his head. "I didn't think of that. Now it makes sense!"

The Deacon grinned at River. "Staff Nurse Melody Pond, isn't it? Been a while."

"You're quick." She replied. "But they call me River Song."

"Yes, well they would." The Deacon said. "Given that that's your name. But River Song is quite infamous, while nobody ever heard of Melody Pond."

"Except her parents." Amy said. "Nice to know you do use the name we gave you, sometimes, Mel."

"Oh, I use it a lot, Mum." River told her. "It suits me."

"Do we have time for this?" Asked the dark woman who accompanied the Deacon.

"Good old Sil, keep us on track!" The Deacon grinned. "How far have you got?"

"Dr Howser here removed all the gross implants." The Doctor said. "We left the carbon fibre implants because they can't be surgically removed for a couple of centuries. I've just finished re-programing the nano-probes. I've deleted all the Borg software, so he can't be re-assimilated. I've also got them to charge from his own bio-electric field, so he won't need external power."

"And he's dying." Said Howser, who had been monitoring the read-outs. "Too much trauma. His body was more dependent on those nannites than I thought. Brain function, heart, liver, kidneys, it's all breaking down."

"The Borg rewrite the DNA to do that." The Doctor said. "Otherwise, they'd need food. The probes will try to maintain the body, but they don't have the power, now. We need to get the DNA back to full human."

"That's why I'm here." The Deacon said. "Dr Song, do you have the wand?"

She handed it to him. He laid it on the instrument stand and took out his quantum screwdriver. With a swift cutting gesture and a flash of blue light, he neatly sliced the wand in two along its length. Carefully, he lifted out the green, gold and red Phoenix feather.

"What do we know about Phoenixes, class?" He asked.

"I always thought they were mythical." Howser replied. "Until I met wizards. Since then I've seen a lot of so-called mythical critters. A Phoenix is just one more tick in the notebook, now."

"The Phoenix is one of three creatures that has a direct connection to the Vortex." The Deacon said.

"That's why they can regenerate." The Doctor said. "Pretty much at will, and as often as they want to. It's also why their tears can heal almost any injury or disease That feather is loaded with regeneration energy."

"More than that." The Deacon said. "Each individual feather is like a flash drive. It stores the creatures' memories. Now this feather was…re-formatted…when the Phoenix donated it as a wand core. Harry Potter acquired it when he was eleven, and it has remained in his possession ever since."

"It has his memories?" Rory guessed.

"His memories, his DNA pattern, and enough regeneration energy to put him back together." The Deacon said. "Every intelligent creature is the sum of his or her memories. Restore those, and you restore the person."

He placed the feather on Five of Sevens' bare chest. Almost at once, the feather began to glow with a bright, golden light. The light spread over the form on the table and intensified to a blinding blaze, before going out like a snuffed candle.

The patient now looked completely different. The skin was still pale, but no longer grey or slick, and much of it was covered with coarse dark hair. The head had also sprouted a crop of untidy black hair. The gaping eye-socket was gone, as were the wounds, except for an odd, lightning-shaped scar on the forehead.

"All vital signs normal." Dr Howser reported. "He's fast asleep, but he's healthy!"

"Welcome back, Harry Potter." The Deacon said softly. "Sleep as much as you can, my friend. You're going to need your strength for what comes next."

 _Paris, July 1st 2042_

Rose landed the Quinjet neatly in the Jardin du Luxembourg, where a UNIT command post had been set up. As the squad deplaned, a tough-looking officer with weathered features came up and saluted Ron.

"Colonel Weasley, good to see you , sir. I'm Major Jonathan O'Neill, UNIT 4th Heavy Infantry."

"Major O'Neill?" Ron put his head on one side. "Might have guessed. You're so like him it's spooky."

"Well, I am him, kinda." O'Neill replied. "Except a lot of different experiences."

"Fair enough." Ron allowed. "What's the situation, Major?"

"We've pushed 'em back on this side as far as the bridges, but there are still some loose on the other bank. Our guys are setting up on the Rue de Rivoli for another push. The Ile de la Cite is still overrun. They keep reinforcing from Notre Dame. Squads of about twenty, every fifteen minutes or so. The first rush was a couple hundred at least, but it slowed down after that.

"We've fortified the Pont du Neuf, the Pont St Michel and the Petit Pont, but we've just got a few mechs on the Pont de l'Archevêché. It's kinda narrow, so they get strung out coming over and are easy to take. We're waiting for our people to finish up on the other bank and we want some reinforcements before we push over the bridges."

"Right." Ron said. "We need to get to Notre Dame pretty smartish. Need to see where they're coming from and what we can do about it."

"Not gonna be easy, sir." O'Neill told him. "Like I said, the island's pretty much overrun. The Metro went into lockdown as soon as the alarm was raised. Your best bet's the Pont de l'Archevêché – they seem to be favouring the bigger bridges."

"What's it like in there, do you have eyes on?" Ron asked.

O'Neill nodded. "Most of the CCTV is still up – they're not systematic, they only smash the cameras if they notice them. They're roaming about, killing or trying to kill any humans they see, otherwise, just tearing things up. Vandalism, not looting – they don't seem interested in stealing anything, just making a mess. They've got nothing that can fly, and only hand-to-hand weapons.

"I have to warn you, sir, the cathedral is a butcher's shop. They came through there, and it was full of tourists. It's a mess.

"I'll get you some transport to the bridge."

"Thanks, Major." Said Ron.

The run to the bridge was quick and uninterrupted, but the evidence of the fight was everywhere. Damage to buildings, wrecked vehicles shoved off the road to make a path, broken glass and the contents of shops littering the street. Among this the Parisian emergency services, aided by UNIT medical personnel, were working among the injured and dead civilians, while squads of soldiers, under the command of UNIT xenobiologists and research wizards, were collecting the non-human corpses.

"This is going to cause a panic." James remarked. "The internet is probably going berserk as we speak. Don't see any media around, though."

"Under control." The UNIT driver told them. "As soon as the alarm came through, Geneva activated the Bad Wolf Protocol. Everyone will think it's an alien invasion and the Civil Defence precautions they set up in 2010 will be enforced. Bad for Paris, but they won't catch us out so easily again!"

Scorpius laughed. "I love muggles! Say 'demons', and they'd freak out. Tell 'em it's aliens and they're like, 'whatever'."

"Lot of them are still religious." Lily noted. "But if what they hear about in church or temple suddenly appears on the street…!

"We need people getting into shelters, not crowding into churches."

By this time, they had reached the relatively small and narrow Pont de l'Archevêché, a plain masonry bridge of three arches, about eleven metres wide. It was largely undamaged, though there were a few demon corpses scattered along its length. The walls of the bridge, James noted, were covered with padlocks.

"What are they for?" He wondered.

"Love locks." Rose told him. "You write a romantic promise on a padlock, tie it to a fence or lamp-post and throw the key away. It's supposed to symbolise eternal love, but what it actually does is damage the structure. The city clears them every so often, but then they come back."

"Situation?" Ron asked the pilot of the medium mech which, along with two light mechs, was guarding this end of the bridge.

"Been quiet for a while now, sir." She told him. "According to the CCTV, the humanoids are massing at the bigger bridges or in the Place Jean-Paul II outside the Cathedral. The animal types are still roaming around, wrecking stuff or fighting each other. Some civilians have barricaded themselves in the sturdier buildings. If they stay quiet, the creatures ignore them, but if they're seen or heard, whole packs gather to try and break into the place and get at them."

"Going to be fun, then!" Ron said. "What about the other end of this bridge? Looks clear to me."

"It is," the pilot replied. "but you'll want to get across quick, they seem to sense people in the open and come running."

"Probably easier if I Orb us all across." James suggested.

"Good idea, cuz." Rose said. "But I'd better get into my working clothes…" She touched her belt buckle and murmured a spell. There was a blaze of white light, and Rose Weasley had become the Silver Sorceress.

The mithril and white gold suit was not the medieval-style armour that Arthur Weasley had built decades ago. This was sleek, streamlined and as modern as anything built by Tony Stark or his son.

"That the Mark IV?" Ron asked. "Nice!

"Right, standard formation!"

The others surrounded James, facing outward.

"Everybody happy?" James asked.

"Ecstatic." Lily replied dourly.

James chuckled and Orbed them into enemy territory.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Day of the TimeMage**

Part Five

 _City of Dis, Realm of Chaos_

"Well, I never thought you'd take me to Hell." Sil remarked as she looked out of the large window. "Though you've told me to go there often enough. What's this place called again?"

"Dis." The Deacon told her. "The poet Dante described it as 'the great city, with the grave throng'. Mind you, he also said it had red-hot walls and was the place were those who sinned through malice or wickedness, rather than ignorance or self-indulgence, were punished."

"I don't see a lot of punishing." Sil noted. "And this place seems very orderly for a city of Chaos..."

"Chaos here is a philosophy, my Lady." This was a new voice, a soft, insinuating tenor. "A state of mind, not a physical actuality."

The figure who had suddenly appeared in the centre of the room was not overly tall, but he radiated power. Like most Devils, he adopted a slightly-refined version of his species' natural appearance. Beneath the austere black robe he wore, cloven hooves were visible as he walked to join them at the window. He was completely bald and a small, elegant pair of horns grew from his forehead. The face was humanlike, but the mouth was slightly too wide and the eyes a deep, sullen red.

"We believe that life, the Universe, has no purpose or meaning." He went on. "It simply is. Things just happen. We are here, gifted with the ability to take the raw stuff of nature and shape it to our wills. All sentient beings have that ability, to a greater or lesser degree. Most seek or invent a purpose or meaning, an end to which they devote their use of that ability -a god or gods, a nation, a race, a set of ideas.

"We here have no such illusions. Beyond basic survival, the only things we pursue are our whims."

"And yet, King Lucifer, here you are, a ruler in this Realm." The Deacon noted. "Was that on a whim?"

"In a manner of speaking." Lucifer replied. "My people – and they are only that because we are like-minded – are practitioners of the arts. Each of us tries to outdo the others in his or her chosen field. Politics and persuasion are also arts, the ones I chose to practice, and I outdid, and continue to outdo, my rivals."

"So Hell is a meritocracy?" Sil asked.

"Among the Devils, yes." Lucifer acknowledged. "Among our Demon kinsfolk, the rule of the strongest applies. My poor mad brother Mundus has retained his position by maiming and slaying thousands of his own kind."

"Not only his own kind." The Deacon told him. "As we speak, hundreds of Mundus' subjects are running amok in the Mundane Realm."

Lucifer nodded. "We are aware of the Portals, My Lord Deacon. They were opened from within the Mundane Realm itself. The Seven Seals have not been violated. Some have opened in our territory, but they have been ignored -the Mundane Realm offers little to us since we are no longer at war with Law. The Demons, on the other hand, will follow their destructive instincts. Mundus could rein them in, if he chose to do so, but that is unlikely.

"So why come to me? I will tell you now that I am not willing at the moment to enter into war with Mundus without a compelling reason."

"Of course you aren't!" The Deacon said. "You're not an idiot, even if Mundus is. But you're wrong about the Seals. The opening of the Portals may originate on Earth, but it was not instigated there."

"How foolish." Lucifer remarked. "Someone wishing to start the old game again? None of my people – I would know. The Fae? No, the Telling binds them and that story is ended for now. Has the Metatron decided his Law is above the Seals?"

"No, he hasn't." The Deacon stated. "He set his hand to the treaty and he can't renege on that. But there is another faction." He pointed out of the Northern window where, far away but threateningly present, loomed the grey walls of the Plateau of Leng.

"The Other Ones?" Lucifer seemed both scared and angry, now. "But they also assented to the Seven Seals! I stood beside Nyarlathotep as he put their mark on it."

"And d'you think it meant anything to him -to them?" The Deacon asked. "He probably barely understood what was happening. They don't think in any way we could recognise, much less understand. We can't know what motivates them, what they want or need, or why they do anything!

"Right now, they have contact with a group of wizards in the Mundane Realm. A contact they initiated for whatever reason, or possibly none at all. Those fools think they can use the Other Ones as a weapon in a petty war of their own, and they'll open a Portal to let the Other Ones in. The Seven Seals will be broken, and with it the peace!"

Lucifer nodded. "True. The Metatron will see it as a chance to renew his crusade against Chaos – indeed any kind of freedom – Mundus will just want to fight. The war will begin again, and the Horsemen will ride.

"My people and I do not want that, My Lord Deacon. We fought Law in self-defence, and would do so again, but we do not wish to face the Four."

"Then deal with Mundus!" The Deacon snapped. "Talk to him, attack him, whatever it takes. A Portal is harmless in itself, but every entity that passes through weakens the Veil, and every time that happens, the Other Ones' plan comes closer to success.

"I came to you, Lucifer, because you, of all of them, can be reasoned with. Mundus would neither listen nor understand. The Metatron would never break the Seals himself, but wouldn't lift a finger to stop somebody else doing it. You can at least distract Mundus; if he has to gather troops to fight you again, he'll stop letting his people go through.

"I'm giving you a chance here, a chance to be seen doing the right thing. Take it, King Lucifer, because my next errand is to the Charred Council."

"Persuasion, followed by a threat disguised in an offer!" Lucifer laughed. "It seems you are an artist in politics also, My Lord Deacon!

"Well, I will do as you ask. It puts me at some personal risk, you understand. Not that Mundus would kill me – he is still my brother, after all. But if I am to persuade him to rein in his people, I must have the support of one even he fears. Which means I must approach Sparda, and relations between my former Warmaster and myself are not always cordial. If I catch him in the wrong mood, he will likely cut me into sections before I can utter a word!"

"Then talk fast." The Deacon growled. "You know what's at stake here!

"C'mon, Sil. We have to go to Limbo."

Sil gave an exaggerated sigh. "How low can you go?" She asked.

 _Planet Thessia_

Harry woke from what seemed to be a deep and healing sleep. The bed he lay in was comfortable to the point of luxury. The room was dim – the curtains were drawn – but he was able to make out furniture. Wardrobe, chest of drawers, nightstand, easy chair, low table and a desk with another chair. There were pictures on the walls, which he couldn't quite make out, a door opposite the bed, and another one in the wall the bed was against.

 _Now where the Hell am I?_ He wondered. This wasn't his room at Godrics' Hollow, or the guest room at Ron and Hermiones' place, or his room at The Burrow. It certainly wasn't St Mungos', or a muggle hospital, nor was it at any of the kids' homes. _Too nice to be a safe house._ Harry thought. _Unless it's one of Rons' corporate hospitality hideaways._

In the back of his mind, he had been trying to bring his memory forward to now, but couldn't. He remembered the fight in the alley, and poor Quoths' sacrifice. He remembered the StoneHeart Curse, Hermione crying, a babble of voices and a locket being pushed in his face. Then a golden light and...nothing. No, one more thing, a flash. He'd been hurting, cold and terribly lonely – the only warm thing the wand that he held and a feeling that he hadn't held it for some time.

Then the door opposite him slid open. Harry sat up – tense but cautious. The silhouette against the brighter light of the hallway was not threatening. About five-six, Harry guessed, and definitely female. She came a little way into the room, then stopped.

"Oh! You're awake!" She said in slightly-accented but understandable English. "How wonderful! Let's have a look at you!" She crossed over to the window and drew the curtains back. Harry saw graceful towers rising into a sky that was a little too blue – the sun didn't seem quite the right colour, either. But the woman was still talking. "We didn't know how long you were going to sleep. The transfer is disorienting if you're conscious. But it's only been the one night. Samara will be pleased, we've got a lot to do!"

She came over to the bed. Her skin was a darkish purple, with large violet eyes in a pretty, elfin face, but instead of hair she had some kind of crest made up of small tentacles growing from the back of her head. She looked keenly at him. "Eyes clear, skin tone good – my father was a human, so I can tell that much." She raised her left arm and some kind of holographic device appeared that seemed to cover her forearm and hand. As she moved the fingers of her other hand over it, a small viewscreen appeared. "Heart rate good, respiration steady, muscle tone good, brainwaves indicating mild stress, a little more adrenalin than normal, but that's not surprising. Harry Potter, you are dis..."

"Eep!" Harry said loudly. It had always worked with Ginny and it did so now .

"Pardon?" She said, puzzled.

"That," Harry told her, "was the sound of a word trying to get in edgeways!"

She broke into a silvery giggle that would have been enchanting in other circumstances.

"Oh, I know!" She allowed. "I'm terrible! Father used to call me her little gargoyle. She said everything that went through my head came out of my mouth! But you must have questions. Ask away."

"OK." Harry said. "Where am I, who are you, and how come your father is a woman?"

"Right!" She replied. "You're on my home planet of Thessia, in the house of the Justicar Samara. I'm Doctor Atiara M'Kana, and I'm here to look after your health – you've been through a lot and I can help with that. My father was my mother's bondmate, obviously. Do you have a problem with that? I know some humans do."

"No, whatever floats your boat." Harry stated. "It's just that, with humans anyway, fathers are generally male!"

"Ah!" Atiara smiled. "I forget, you're not from around here. Well, I'm not going to explain asari biology to you before breakfast! You _do_ want breakfast?"

Harrys' stomach answered for him, very audibly. Atiara giggled again. "I'll go and get you some. Meanwhile, bathroom through there," she pointed to the other door, "clothes and things in the wardrobe and drawers. Get yourself sorted out, I'll be about fifteen minutes."

Sheleft the room and Harry got out of bed.The bathroom was actually quite commodious, rather than the closet he expected. He shed the close-fitting boxer shorts he'd apparently been put to bed in and got into the shower. The controls were simple enough, once he'd established that yellow meant hot and green meant cold. The soap came in a grey packet stamped "Human Alliance: Supply Corps" and was unperfumed but of reasonable quality. The water had a pinkish tinge and an odd, but not unpleasant, tang. He showered quickly, brushed his teeth and shaved. All the toiletries, he noted, came in the same military-style packaging.

That done, he investigated the closets and drawers. Everything seemed about the right size, so he chose a plain white shirt, a plain grey suit with a distinctly military cut and a pair of comfortable black slip-on shoes.

He was standing at the window, looking out over the city, when Atiara returned. Apart from his trip to the moon Tanelorn, and a few 'orientation' trips through the Stargate, Harry had not really been off-world a great deal. The sun of Thessia was paler than Earths', and the sky a deeper blue. The gravity, as best he could tell, was much the same and though there was a slight hint of a scent in the air, he couldn't pin it down.

Atiara brought with her, however, the unmistakable aroma of coffee, fried bacon and sausages.

"The man at the human take-away called this a 'full English.'" She told him, setting the tray on the low table. "I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but it looked the most substantial on the menu and you'll need your strength.

"You found something to wear, I see. I'm afraid almost everything is Alliance military issue. There aren't but two Gentlemens' Outfitters' on the whole of Thessia, and only three places to buy men's toiletries, and they're all horribly expensive. Not that Samara isn't well-off, but we needed the stuff quickly and Admiral Hackett has been very accommodating because of Commander Shepard."

"I take it," Harry broke in between mouthfuls, "that the asari are a single-gender species?"

Atiara opened her mouth, closed it, blinked and then said. "Yes. Of course you wouldn't know. But you worked it out rather fast. River said you were quick on the uptake."

"River?" Harry asked. "River Song?" Atiara nodded. "Well," Harry said, "that explains everything and nothing at the same time!"

"Ah, you do know her, then!" Atiara giggled, then said. "Eat up. Then, when you're ready, come downstairs. You'll find us in the morning room, first door on the right."

 _Ile de la Cite, Paris, July 1_ _st_ _2042_

The streets were quiet, though signs of the demon rampage were everywhere. Ron consulted his GeoLoc, and took point, the rest spread around him in a standard recon formation, covering flanks and rear. The first attack wasn't long in coming. A creature about as big as a horse, acephalous, running on a pair of muscular, humanlike arms and hands and trailing a long, powerful tail. It charged down on them, avoiding Lilys' hex by leaping onto a building, off the wall of which it bounced just before James' curse hit. Then it was caught in mid-air by Rons' Killing Curse.

"Nice." Lily commented.

"I keep in practice." Ron told her. "Sounds like a bit of a racket going on up ahead."

The racket consisted of a crowd of about five humanoid demons, carrying an assortment of axes and swords, desperately trying to break through what was clearly a heavily-barricaded door. Their efforts were being hampered by the residents, who were hurling ornaments and furniture from a second-floor balcony. One demon already lay inert amongst the wreckage of what had once been a grand piano.

"OI!" Ron bellowed, and immediately the demons turned and charged. Scorpius raised the gauntlet and invoked _impedimenta_. There was a sound like a thunderclap and the lead demon -who Scorpius had been targeting – promptly dissolved into a cloud of red droplets. The other four were hurled down the street like broken toys. Three did not move again, but after a stunned moment of silence, one got up and limped hurriedly off.

Scorpius was staring at the gauntlet. "Fuck me sideways!" He finally said.

"Later." Lily promised. "Point your finger in future. Clenched fist gives a cone effect and boosts the power."

"No shit, Sherlock." Rose noted.

At that point, the French family recovered themselves and began cheering and shouting.

" _Vive les Anglais!_ "

" _A bas les monstres!_ "

"Jolly good show, chaps!"

They then burst into a rendering of the _Marseillaise_ which was both spirited and in at least two different keys. The party winced -except James, who was as tone-deaf as his father – and moved on.

A few streets away from the Cathedral, Ron called a halt and asked Field HQ for a situation report. As he did so, they heard a crackle of gunfire from the far bank.

"Right!" Ron told them all. "The main enemy force is gathered outside the main doors -we won't get in that way. What we can hear is our people pushing forward from the Rue de Rivoli to get them back across the bridges. Once that's done, our forces will attack on all the bridges at once and push in toward Notre Dame.

"We need to find a side-door, there'll be a few, and hope it isn't guarded too heavily. After that, not sure. There's a lot of interference, but as best our people – muggle and wizard both -can tell, the church itself isn't heavily occupied.

"Let's go!"

Notre Dame, like many cathedrals, is oriented west to east, with the great doors to the nave at the west and the altar in the east. Also, like most of its kind, it is cruciform, with north and south transepts. The party had to circle the church via the eastern end to locate an entrance door in the north transept. Before it stood a single demon. But this demon was some eight feet tall and broad in proportion, with claws like scythe blades.

"Job for me, guys." Rose murmured, before activating her armours' Invisibility Charm. A few moments later, she reappeared above and behind the demon, dropping down to wrap her arms around its head and, with a savage twist, snap its neck.

"Go!" Ron barked.

They went. The door was hanging half off its hinges, and, as they had been warned, the interior of the church was a scene of carnage. Civilian bodies were everywhere, along with security guards and a few gendarmes. Strangely, little or no damage had been done to the fabric or decorations of the building. Even the acres of magnificent stained glass were mostly intact.

"They went after people, not things." Ron noted.

"D'you think they'll reconsecrate it?" Rose asked.

James shrugged. "Hard to say. It's been nothing more than a tourist attraction for the last fifteen years or so. There aren't many practising Christians left in Europe – not many with any religion, according to Caitlin. All that mess in the 2020s sort of put people off the idea. The last service held in Westminster Abbey was when King William and Queen Catherine were crowned four years ago, and that was the first one since King Charles' coronation."

"No time for history lessons." Ron said. "There's a bloody great hole in the floor there! No guards, either!"

"Somebody got here first?" Lily asked.

"Like who?" Rose wanted to know.

"The White Council people?" Scorpius asked. "There were Wardens inbound. Maybe Dr Strange?"

Ron shook his head. "If Strange was here, he'd have cleared the city of demons first – probably by sneezing. White Council, maybe, but they'd have let us know unless they couldn't.

"Jimmy, take point and be ready to shield. Move out."

There was an ancient spiral staircase leading down. They advanced cautiously.

"These stairs aren't mentioned in any of the information about this place." Scorpius noted.

"Older than the Cathedral." Lily told him. "Roman or pre-Roman, I'd guess. Aunt 'Mione would know."

"The early Christians tended to build their churches on sites that had been sacred to the native religions, according to your aunt." Ron put in. "Makes sense. Put the new church in the place where people are used to going, like building a supermarket where the grocers used to be."

After a while, Lily commented. "Is it me, or is it getting cold down here?"

"We are underground." Scorpius pointed out.

"No, Lily's right." Rose told him. "According to my suits' readout, the temperature is dropping far too rapidly to be natural. Something's up."

"I can cast a warming sphere." James said. "But I can't do that and shield at the same time."

"I'll take point." Rose said. "I can shield as well, and the suits' environmental charms will keep me toasty!"

"Thanks." Lily said. "We don't all have centrally-heated knickers!"

"I'll get Howard to whip you up a pair." Rose promised, referring to her Avengers team-mate Howard Stark II.

It was soon clear that this was more than a natural cold. A distinct rime formed on the walls, and the steps became treacherous even for their combat boots. Then they turned the corner and came upon a demon. Rose almost attacked it before she realised that, for one thing, it was cowering in terror, and for another, it was frozen solid.

"What the bloody Hell?" She wondered, then reached out and tapped it lightly on the forehead. It wobbled for a moment, then fell down several stairs and broke into fragments.

"Well, that's him all over!" Lily commented.

"He just went to pieces." Scorpius noted.

"Completely cracked up." James agreed.

"He was shattered." Ron added.

"I just tipped him over the edge." Rose allowed.

They went on until the stairs ended in an archway that led into a large, vaulted chamber. "Definitely Roman." Lily noted. "Arches."

But her comment was lost in the tableau before them. At the centre of the room a disc of red energy hung vertically in the air. Clearly a portal or gate of some kind, it was rotating slowly. On the floor below it had been drawn an elaborate Summoning Circle which still glowed with active magic. But the circle was covered with a thick layer of transparent ice.

Four people stood nearby. One was a compact, blond man in a grey suit, who had his hands stretched out over the circle. James' Whitelighter senses and the Detector Charms built into Roses' armour told them that he was the source of the unnatural cold. Behind him stood a black man as big as Ron, in a dark shirt and trousers. His massive hands rested on the blond mans' shoulders and James could see his aura supporting and protecting the other, as well as helping concentrate the terrible cold on the circle.

Nearby, actually on the ice, was a beautiful black woman in a black business suit. She was also reaching out her hands, to touch the outer edge of the disc as it rotated. Where she touched it the red energy turned to a dark, shimmering blue. The blue was already beginning to spiral into the centre of the disc as more and more of it appeared.

Finally, there was a tall, blonde woman in a blue dress, who was approaching them purposefully. Rose was about to intercept her when her father said quietly. "Rosie, I've got this." She stepped back, leaving the blonde face-to-face with her father.

Ron's mind was doing odd things. According to Hermione, this was not unusual, but these things were even odder than normal. He was experiencing memories of something he was sure had never happened. The woman stopped in front of him and her startlingly blue eyes started to glow, to draw him in.

But Ron was a master of the Soulgaze, a talent which automatically made him a powerful Occlumens. His mind snapped shut like an oyster, a shell that not even Charles Xavier could have penetrated. The woman stepped back a pace, clearly unused to being blocked. Then she looked closely at him.

"I remember you." She said softly. "At an old castle in Scotland. You were only a boy, but a brave, stubborn one. There was something there, something old and impatient. But I took it out of time, all of it. You shouldn't remember."

"I don't, not really." Ron told her. "It's like a story or a dream. You're Sapphire, the one in the grey suit is Steel – he's freezing the circle to stop the spell - and that's Lead, insulating him. There was another man called Silver, but I don't remember the black lady."

"No, she wasn't with us." Sapphire explained. "Her name's Jet, and she deals with Dark Energy. That portal is corrupted Dark Energy, so Jet is cleaning it so it will close of its' own accord."

"But why are you here?" Ron asked. "You told us your people only dealt with threats to Time."

"This place is old." Sapphire said. "It was sacred ground long before the building above was was founded. People and their structures have been here since before you were truly human. The lizard people worshipped here, and the Eldar."

"A pressure point, then." Ron said. "Weakening the Veil here won't just open up the Never-never, but could damage Time?"

"You know a lot, for a human." Sapphire remarked.

"We've learned a lot, recently." Ron told her.

Just then, Jet called. "Done!"

The disc was now completely blue. As they watched, it quickly shrank and vanished. Steel relaxed, and the ice vanished almost at once from the circle. James stepped forward and began to dismantle it.

"Can you take time back to before all this happened?" Jet asked Sapphire. "Send those creatures back to wherever they came from?"

"Not our job." Steel replied before Sapphire could speak. "They don't come out of Time, just another dimension."

"That's cold, lover, even for you!" Jet said half-teasingly.

"He's right." Lily said unexpectedly. "You have a specific job to do, and you've done it. We'll do the rest."

"You know about us?" Sapphire asked.

"I work for Torchwood." Lily told her. "We have files, witness accounts, information. You're the ones the Doctor calls 'the Plumbers' - you mend leaks in Time."

Lead and Jet promptly collapsed in howls of laughter. Sapphire smiled quietly, but Steel snorted. "The Doctor? Don't you mean the Troublemaker?"

"Be careful, Steel." Sapphire cautioned. "He may be a renegade, but he's still one of the First Ones. He can't be taken lightly."

"There's a gaping hole in Time on Gallifrey!" Steel growled. "They keep it open deliberately as a teaching aid! I don't take them lightly, Sapphire! That alone makes them more dangerous than all the other First Ones put together!"

"And there's nothing we can do about it." Lead pointed out. "You've said it all before, man, and nobody here disagrees with you. But we tried. We sent three Transuranics there, and they came back with their backsides smacked and a message for the bosses to stay away. You don't mess with those guys!"

"Enough!" Jet decided. "We have to go. These people have a job to do, and we're getting in the way."

Steel looked at Ron. "If another one of these Portals opens at a pressure point, we'll be there. Tell your people to stay out of our way, and we'll stay out of theirs."

"Noted." Ron replied. "I'll give our commanders a heads-up."

Steel nodded, and then they were gone.

"All done, Jimmy?" Ron asked.

James nodded. "Whoever drew this knew what they were doing, but anyone with natural magic can take a circle apart. We can see or feel where the connections are and break the circuits safely."

"Good enough." Ron said. "Let's get back upstairs."

The cathedral was empty, but they could hear the growls, roars and less recognisable sounds from outside the great West door. They were about to slip out the way they had come when a call came over their comlinks.

"All units, we are moving in. Take the bridges. Go, go!"

"Crap!" Rose said. "There are a Hell of a lot of demons out there!"

"We need to hit them in the rear." Ron decided. "At least cut down on the reinforcements."

"OK." Rose said. "I'll go first, you lot pick up anything I miss!"

"Not so fast, kid!" Ron told her. "You're not the only heavy hitter here!"

He touched his belt buckle and murmured a rune – a moment later, the Silver Sorceror was back.

"Is the antique still up to it?" Rose wanted to know.

"I keep it maintained, and it's had some upgrades." Ron replied.

"I didn't mean the _suit_!" Rose answered. "I was talking about the antique _wearing_ it!"

"We'll discuss you lack of daughterly respect later." Ron warned. He opened the door with a gesture, then told Rose. "Try to keep up!"

With a whoosh and a roar, father and daughter barrelled into the tightly-packed mass outside, sending demons and parts of demons flying in all directions.

James extended the Minbari wand to staff length. "They don't deserve all the fun." He pointed out.

Scorpius flexed the fingers of his gauntlet. "Damn right they don't!" He agreed.

Lily tightened the wrist strap of her _kara kesh_. "Let's go!" She said.

They went. This day-trip to Paris was proving even more fun than usual.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Day of the Time Mage**

Part Six

 _The Realm of Balance_

After responding to the sixteenth polite greeting from the natives, Sil announced. "Well, finally, you've brought me somewhere nice. Nice weather, well-tended fields, pretty woods, wild flowers, polite and peaceable people." She flung back her head and yelled. "BOOOORING!"

The Deacon shook his head. "Some folk are ever satisfied!" He mock-grumbled. "What did you expect the Realm of Balance to be like?"

"Like Limbo." She allowed. "All grey mist and wailing lost souls. Sort of like a Folk Club, really."

"Um." The Deacon replied. "Well, sorry to disappoint. But those polite, peaceable people are that way because they can afford to be. They're the Grey Ones, the Lords and Ladies of Balance, and neither you, I, nor anyone or anything in the Multiverse can harm them. The Balance being, of course, that they can't harm us.

"But the people we're going to meet, the Charred Council, are different. They express the active Balance. That means that any harm we do to them, we do to ourselves as well. But it also enables them to employ agents to enforce Balance. We're here to make sure they don't. Not yet, anyway."

The ground changed. The path became rougher, the vegetation turned to scrub and then vanished leaving bare rock, with occasional pools of moiling lava. Then a kind of hill, or small plateau appeared. The path ended at a flight of rough stone steps, at the top of which four figures waited.

"Welcome wagon?" Sil asked.

"After a fashion." The Deacon said. "Or an honour guard. Maybe even a security detail. If you can 't be polite, be quiet."

Three men and a woman. The woman was the shortest of the three – no taller than Sil – wearing armour but no helmet. She had pale eyes in a pointed face that was more savage than beautiful, and her mane of magenta hair was in constant, floating motion. A coiled whip rested on one hip, and she was watchful as a bird of prey.

Next to her, and only a little taller, was a male figure wearing a metal mask out of which keen yellow eyes stared unblinking. His hands twitched impatiently near the heavy pistols holstered at his hips.

The second man was a giant figure, taller than the others and powerfully-built. He wore armour, including a massive gauntlet on his left hand and carried a huge broadsword slung at his back. He wore a red hood, from under which some white hair escaped to frame a coldly handsome face with icy silver eyes. He seemed alert, but calm.

The third male, stepping forward to greet them, was also tall and broad-shouldered. He wore no armour except for belts that criss-crossed his chest. A pair of short-handled scythes hung at his back. Long dark hair framed his masked face, from which orange eyes gazed steadily.

"Deacon." He said in a quiet, cultured voice. "We are to bring you to the Council."

"My thanks, Pale Rider." The Deacon said formally.

"Any tricks," snarled the other masked man, "and I'll blow both your heads off!"

"Be still, Strife." The red-hooded man admonished. "You try too hard to live up to your name, Brother."

"Is he alone in that?" The woman asked. "Has War suddenly become Peace?"

"There is a time for War, and a time for Fury, Sister." War noted. "Only Death is inevitable, and he has welcomed them."

"You will forgive my siblings, Deacon." Death sighed. "They are younger than I, and sometimes it shows.

"Come, we will bring you to the Council. Be aware, there are other guests here."

It seemed the Horsemen were a taciturn lot, as they didn't speak while guiding their guests into the centre of the small plateau. Here there was a small lake of lava and flame, with four craggy rocks standing in the centre. At the edge of the pool stood two figures, side by side. One was a hulking, ten-foot-tall monstrosity with great, clumsy wings and a massively-horned head. His face was almost human, though the thick skin covered it in odd ridged lines. Beside him was a seven-foot winged humanoid in silver armour, with white hair and beard on a thin, harsh face and an ornate patch over his right eye.

"Well, well," the Deacon said, "journeys end in lovers meetings. Sil, this is Lord Samael, of the Lost Legion." The demon inclined his head. "And this is the Abaddon, Commander of the Hellguard, Angel of the Abyss." The Angel gave a short, stiff bow, clicking his heels. "What brings you here, gentlemen?"

"The same thing that brings you, My Lord Deacon." Samaels' voice was deep, but less harsh than Sil had expected.

"So this is the infamous Deacon, the ubiquitous, interfering TimeMage?" By contrast, the Abaddons' voice was lighter, but gravelly.

"NOT HERE." This voice was a roar of wind, a crackle of flame, a rumbling of rock, and it came from the middle of the lake. Now that Sil was closer, she could see that the spikes of rough stone that rose from the lava had gaping holes that were like eyes and mouths. Eyes and mouths in which flame and lava glowed. "HERE HE IS AN HONOURED REPRESENTATIVE OF THE FIRST ONES, AND OUR GUEST."

"Thank you." The Deacon replied. "I take it you know why I'm here."

"WE KNOW OF THE PORTALS." Was the reply. "THEY ORIGINATE IN THE MUNDANE REALM, AND ARE THE WORK OF HUMANS. NO SEAL HAS BEEN BROKEN."

"We should have made the Humans sign the the Seven Seals." The Abaddon growled.

"They were not yet ready." Samael pointed out. "Perhaps now, they are. But first, we must ensure that they are doing this of their own will, not at the behest of Law or Chaos. You, Abaddon, answered for the Metatron, and your word is good enough for me."

"Granted, Samael." Replied the grizzled Angel. "But while your word is good enough for me, you cannot answer for Lucifer or Mundus."

"That's the nature of Chaos, of course." The Deacon noted. "But I've just come from Dis. Lucifer assures me that neither he nor his brother are responsible for the opening of the portals. Some Demons have taken advantage of them to attack Earth, but they are being dealt with."

"Lucifer will speak to Mundus about restraining his people."

"I wish him luck!" Samael chuckled grimly.

"Oh, he'll be all right." The Deacon said airily. "He's taking Sparda along with him."

Samael bellowed with laughter, and there was a bubbling sound full of humour from the lava pool, even the Abaddon permitted himself a slight smile.

"Then if Lucifer and Mundus cannot agree, likely Sparda will slay them both." He remarked.

"None too soon!" Samael told him. "Lucifer is a snake and Mundus a brute. Sparda is worth ten of either of his brothers. Were he to rule Chaos, as he should, we could all rest easier."

"I dare say." The Deacon said. "As for the portals, they are being opened as a stratagem to allow a group of Humans time to open a larger one to Kadath. Whether this is their own idea or done at the behest of the Other Ones, we don't yet know.

"That's why I'm here. To ask the Charred Council to hold off until we find out who's to blame. I mean, I know the Horsemen could flatten Kadath and rip up the foundations, but if the Other Ones aren't behind this, just taking advantage...Let's just say I can't stand the notion of genocide, of any race."

"NOT EVEN THE DALEKS?" Was the Councils' reply. "NO MATTER. WE CAN PROMISE ONLY THIS; THAT WHILST THE OTHER ONES STAY WITHIN THEIR REALM, WE WILL RESERVE JUDGEMENT. BUT SHOULD EVEN ONE OF THEM CROSS THROUGH INTO THE MUNDANE REALM, WE WILL SEND OUR HORSEMEN TO DRIVE THEM BACK OR SLAY THEM, WHICHEVER IS NECESSARY. ANY THAT REMAIN IN THEIR OWN REALM WILL BE SPARED."

"Understood." The Deacon said. "Let's hope it won't come to that!

"And for the record, I never advocated genocide, even for the Daleks. Come on, Sil."

 _Planet Thessia_

It took Harry longer than he had planned to get downstairs. He suddenly realised that he didn't have his glasses on, and spent several minutes in a fruitless search for them before realising that he was seeing perfectly well without. At that point, he took stock of himself. Wizards age slowly, and Harry had a life-expectancy of between 120 and 150 years, so at 62, he was barely middle-aged. Unlike many wizards of previous generations, he had also taken care to stay in peak physical condition, rather than allow his magic to take all the load. But now, he felt different. Stronger, more energetic, his senses keener. What was going on? Every time somebody tried to kill him, he seemed to come back more powerful! He promised himself that he would talk to someone about it, soon. Who, he wasn't sure. Dr Strange, perhaps, or Charles Xavier. Maybe the Doctor, if he ever saw him again.

That his senses had been enhanced was made clear as he approached the door. It was closed, and the conversation inside was being held in normal tones, but he still heard every word clearly.

"He's fine, physically," Atiaras' voice, "but psychologically I can't say for certain. He doesn't know he's a clone, of course."

"Technically, he isn't." A new voice, an authoritative contralto. "The body isn't his original one, but the person wearing it hasn't changed."

"I know." Atiara replied. "But a body isn't exactly like a suit of clothes, Justicar. You are never that intimately aware of what you're wearing. He's going to realise, and it may be a shock. We need to approach it carefully."

"Too late, I fear." Was the answer. "Mr Potter, if you're done eavesdropping, come in and join us!"

Harry entered, feeling a little sheepish. Atiaras' expression indicated similar feelings, but the asari now rising to greet him seemed unconcerned. She was tall, easily matching his own six feet, and could only be described as 'statuesque'. Her face was handsome rather than pretty, and a lighter shade of blue than Atiaras'.

"Harry Potter, I am the Justicar Samara." She introduced herself. "It seems that Atiara and I have inadvertently revealed information you may not have been prepared to hear. Do you need time to process it?"

Harry shook his head. "I'd already noticed differences." He allowed. "I've never had 20-20 vision in my life, for instance. Seeing the world without glasses is a little...odd. But not unpleasant.

"I did wonder if some bright spark had downloaded me into an LMD or a Homunculus, but a clone makes more sense. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but my hearing has had an upgrade as well.

"Given that River Song is involved in this, I take it I can't expect any explanations?"

"I only know what Dr Song has told me, and Atiara has confirmed." Samara told him. "Your new body has certain physical upgrades. Mainly a weaving of carbon fibre along your bones and muscles which serves to enhance your physical abilities. Also, your body is flooded with nanoprobes. Tiny machines which help to support your system at peak efficiency. Your senses have been slightly enhanced, you will find your memory and thinking capacity increased, and you will heal more quickly, should you be injured. I was told to tell you, 'better than ordinary people, but not as good as Logan', if that means anything to you."

"It makes sense." Harry replied. "I dare say I'll have to wait for anything more. But right now, what am I doing here? Why send me off-world? There are UNIT and SHIELD facilities that could handle this kind of thing."

Samara gestured him to a seat. "You are not just off-world, Mr Potter. You are actually outside your own Universe. This is necessary if you are to learn what you need to learn in order to deal with the peril facing your world."

Harry blinked. Many years ago, when he had been a member of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, the Doctor had explained the Multiverse to him. Since then, he had spoken with a number of people who had seen or experienced 'alternate realities'. He'd never expected to be in one himself, though!

"Go on." He said.

Samara frowned. "It is difficult to know where to begin." She admitted. "Are you aware of a substance known as Element Zero? It is also called lyrium or prismere?"

"Can't say that I am." Harry replied. "They never told me about it at school, and none of my scientist friends have ever mentioned it."

"I am not surprised." Samara told him. "My information is that it is very scarce in your Universe, especially in the Mundane Realm there.

"Element Zero, or 'eezo' as some people refer to it, conducts and focuses Dark Energy..."

"Now that I've heard of!" Harry interrupted. "There've been a few Dark Energy artefacts that have made their way to my world, and caused a lot of trouble. The Tesseract in particular.

"Dark Energy, among other things, can be used to open portals into different planes. It never ends well."

"I imagine it does not." Samara allowed. "Where eezo is rare and Dark Energy less focused, the barriers between different realms tend to be weak. Ironically, it is the very absence of this substance which gives your Universes' wizards their power. Your ability to draw on the energies of higher order dimensions faces less resistance.

"However, in this Universe, Harry Potter, you have no magic. Which is to say, that although the genetic markers which make you a wizard are still present, the barriers in this Universe are much stronger, beyond you ability to penetrate. There are no wizards in this Universe."

"Oh." Harry absorbed this, then asked. "Well, if I'm not here to learn advanced magic, why am I here? If it's science, Hermione would have done better, if it's combat or military skills, you needed Ron."

"We may not have wizards, Harry, but we have something else." Samara said. "People we call biotics. Those who are exposed to non-lethal amounts of eezo -often pre-birth - can sometimes develop an innate ability to channel and manipulate Dark Energy as a weapon or as defence, or simply as a tool.

"Harry, River told us, and Atiara has confirmed, that at some point, you have been exposed to eezo and have thus become, potentially, a most powerful biotic. You have been sent here, to Thessia, because it is the homeworld of we asari. A world with so much Element Zero in its chemistry that each and every one of us is a biotic. You have been sent to me because over a long life I have honed my skills and powers to a higher degree than most, and because I am best suited to teach you how to use this power. A power you will need to preserve your world."

"Somebody," Harry declared, "is having a giraffe! Somebody, somewhere, is royally taking the piss! First I'm the Chosen One, with 'the power that Voldemort knows not' which turned out to be a bit of the old sods' soul. Now I find I've got some sort of Mutant power that's vital to save the world! Why do these things always happen to me?"

"Right place, wrong time?" Atiara suggested. "Or the other way around?"

"There may be other forces at work." Samara pointed out.

"I've always favoured cock-up over conspiracy." Harry noted. "But if I ever find out who these 'other forces' are, they're going to get a permanent Itching Hex exactly where they least want one!

"Right, I'm done bellyaching. Where do we start?"

"You will need these." Atiara passed him two devices. "This is a biotic amplifier. I'm told that wizards in your world use wands to focus their magic. The amp does the same for biotics. It normally works with cybernetic implants, but I gather that your nanoprobes will interface with it if you will them to.

"This we call an omni-tool. It has a variety of uses, but in your case it's most useful for its connection to the Galactic Net. I've marked several texts for you to study."

"Take the day." Samara advised. "Get used to the amp and study the reading material. Experiment if you wish, but exercise caution -try not to break anything! We will begin your training proper tomorrow. You have much to learn and little time to do so. I cannot afford to go easy on you Harry, and I am told you can be a challenging student!"

"You have no idea!" Harry replied with a grin.

 _12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 2_ _nd_ _2042_

Hermione was waiting for them on the roof, and flung herself at Ron as soon as he stepped out of the quinjet. "Are you all right?" She asked, as soon as they could speak again.

"I'm fine!" Ron told her.

"Fine?" Rose said, hugging her mother. " _Fine?_ Father of mine, you are fucking _awesome_!"

"Language!" Hermione reprimanded.

"Bollocks!" Rose answered. "I just found out I've got the most badass Dad in the world, so I'm entitled to a swear-word or two! If I'd known, I'd have behaved better as a kid!"

"I did try to tell you." Hermione pointed out. "Not that your father was any help. Half the time when you were naughty he just laughed."

"She reminded me of me." Ron said. "Still does. Don't sell yourself short, Rosie, you were pretty bloody awesome yourself back there!"

Rose shook her head. "I've got the newer suit." She observed. "But I still can't do half the things you did in that old one. Well no, I could, but I just wouldn't think to!"

"Old age and guile, kid, old age and guile!" Ron told her. "You'll learn. You'll be better than me some day."

"I'll be happy if I get to be half as good!" Rose retorted.

"I take it that everything went well?" Hermione asked. "I can't watch the live feeds, you know. Having my heart in my mouth for that long makes me feel sick!"

"These two didn't leave many for the rest of us!" Scorpius complained.

"Well, we didn't leave many for the UNIT people." James pointed out.

"We got the job done." Was all Lily said.

Ron nodded. "The portal under Notre Dame is sealed and Paris is secure. Not too many civilian casualties either. Most of them had the sense to get inside and lie low."

"Good." Hermione said. "The muggle media is blaming aliens and crediting SHIELD and UNIT, as per instructions. There's some people wanting to see you inside, Ron."

In the Operations Room they found Bill Weasley, Draco Malfoy and a tall, powerfully-built black man with a shaven head and a reserved expression. It was this man Ron spoke to while Draco and his son exchanged greetings.

"Teal'c?" He said. "What are you doing here? I'd heard you left the SGC, didn't you go back to Chulak?"

The former First Prime of Apophis shook his head. "I attempted to, Ronald Weasley, but I have served and lived among the tau'ri for so long I no longer feel at home on Chulak. Until recently, I have been serving as Head of Security at Stark International, but Stark has permitted me to come here and offer my services in this crisis. I have been away from battle too long, I fear I am becoming, as humans say, rusty."

"Well, we can use every strong arm we can muster." Ron allowed. "I'm pretty sure we can find a few arses for you to kick!"

"Indeed." Teal'c replied with a slight smile.

Ron grinned back, then turned to Draco. "Shouldn't you be behind a desk somewhere?" He asked.

"Shouldn't you be in a boardroom, Ronald?" Draco replied. "I think both of us stand in need of what is called a 'work-out', do we not?

"But I am merely here in transit to Romania."

"Romania?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "You've been in touch with the Count?"

"Quite so." Draco confirmed. "It seems that hostile forces have seized Castle Dracula, but our allies there were informed ahead of time and managed to evacuate without serious losses. It also appears that Castle Dracula was not their main objective. They seem to have made their headquarters in Schloss Orlok. Apparently the place has some geological significance – the only known source of a rare element required for completion of their plan.

"Regardless of the technical details, the topography of the area means that any sizeable assault force must come through the Borgo Pass. Deployment from aircraft is not feasible beyond that point, even with ring technology or Asgard teleporters. Aerial bombardment might well destroy the castle, but much of the structure is hollowed within the mountain and would remain untouched even by nuclear weapons.

"Since the Borgo Pass is defended by Castle Dracula, we must retake it first, but not before our assault force is ready."

"And we can't just move a load of troops into the Pass all at once," Ron decided, "because they'll see us coming and reinforce Castle Dracula with who knows what.

"If we have to assemble that kind of force quietly and have it in position but out of sight, it's going to take time. At least two weeks, I'd say."

"Reasonable." Draco said. "That will give the Count time to assemble a greater contingent of his Black Court soldiers and contact some other allies. I will be joining up with him and setting up more reliable communications."

"Good enough, and thanks for the heads-up." Ron said. "Stay in touch, mate."

By this time, Bill had finished greeting his sister-in-law, nieces and nephew. "Hi, big brother!" Ron said. "Did you manage to get them?"

"Every last one!" Bill announced. "The most elite group of curse-breakers ever pulled together. Took some doing, mind. Most of them are freelancers now and they were all over the place. Gringotts wasn't too happy about me co-opting a few of their contractors either, but they had to oblige. This lot will get you into anywhere magically-defended."

Bill paused for a moment, then said quietly. "How are you doing, Ron? I mean about Harry. You and he were best mates for so long, he's as much a part of our family as if he was born into it. Mum's heartbroken. Says she's lost Dad, Percy and Ginny, and now Harry!"

"Percy and Ginny are both still around." Ron pointed out.

"They're dead to Mum, and you know it!" Bill snorted. "But that wasn't what I was asking. What about you and 'Mione?"

"There's a lot going on." Ron said. "No time for weeping and wailing. Harry wouldn't like us taking a time out to cry when the world is in danger."

"That almost sounds like you think he's still alive." Bill noted.

"Wolverine once told me something." Ron replied. "He said you should never count a human dead until you've seen the body. And even then, you can make a mistake."

Lily had asked for, and been given, her own small office. This was necessary for her to stay in touch with Torchwood. Director Lovegood (Auntie Luna to Lily) and her staff were busily going through the mass of files and artefacts held at Torchwood Four, hoping to find some bit of alien magic that would help.

She had just sat down, and was removing the hand device so that she could use her keyboard, when the door opened and closed quietly behind her.

"A wizards' kara kesh." Bill said. "I watched the feed from the battle. You use it very well, Lil."

"Was it yours?" She asked.

"What?" Bill asked, but the laugh that followed was nervous more than humorous.

"I'm not asking you, Uncle Bill." Lily said. "I'm asking the other one."

There was a tiny pause, and when the reply came, it was in Bills' voice, but deeper and oddly distorted.

"How long have you known?"

"I didn't, until just this minute, not for sure." Lily said, turning to face him. Bill's posture had changed. Usually upright, his shoulders were rounded and slightly bowed. The eyes that now watched her were old, sad and unutterably weary.

"Dad had his suspicions. Said you were a bit too anxious to know what had happened at Salazars' Keep, once he told everybody that Slytherin had been a Goa'ould host. Also, you tended to avoid Teal'c and the SG-1 people when they came to The Burrow to visit – not like Bill.

"Dad only told me, and only after I started to work for Torchwood. Said I might need to know one day. So I've watched you. You've made a few slips, you know. Known things Bill couldn't have. And the curse-breaking. Places with defensive spells so old even the Karnak people don't know them, and you breeze in and out like Lara Croft on speed.

"But you've kept quiet. Not gathered followers, not got into politics or tried for power. So either you're using Bill as a cover to search for some powerful Goa'ould weapon, or you're Tok'Ra. Which? Don't try lying to me, I'll know, I always do."

"That is the longest speech Bill has heard you make since you were thirteen." Was the reply. "My name is Shen, I am of the Tok'Ra. I was placed as a spy as one of the Court Magicians to Lord Yu, the Jade Emperor. When Yu was driven from Earth by the Monkey King, I took refuge in the court of Lord Ra. But Ra distrusted wizards, only keeping three of us as a defence against tau'ri wizards. When he fled Earth, he no longer needed us. Kharis and I were sealed in prison jars, Nephren-Ka fled.

"When Bill opened my prison, I blended with him out of desperation. From him, I learned that Nephren-Ka had made himself Pharaoh, but had been slain by his own Medj'ai for practising the Dark Arts. Kharis' jar, which had been beside mine, had been opened long before. But I could learn nothing of him from Bill.

"I thought that the chappa'ai, the Stargate, might still be useable, so agreed with Bill that we would search it out. We would find the Tok'Ra, I would find a willing host, and Bill could return home. Neither of us knew, of course, that the Stargate had been moved to a heavily-guarded facility in America. By the time we had concluded that it was no longer in Egypt, we had become friends, and Bill has been my willing host since. And my last. I have lived to see this world free of the Goa'ould, and the tau'ri take the war to their ancient oppressors. I have lived long enough and will pass when Bill passes, in peace."

"Does Fleur know?" Lily asked.

It was Bill who answered. "She's always known, since before we were married. Shen and I never wanted to deceive her. She just says she got two for the price of one! Victoire knows as well, but I don't know if she ever told Ted.

"Now what, Lil?"

"Now nothing." Lily said. "But if Shen knows anything that could help, I expect him to tell you!"

 _Another New York_

It had appeared without warning in the middle of Times Square. A red circle of energy some seven feet in diameter, hanging perhaps four inches off the ground and appearing to slowly rotate. The authorities had cleared the area and the Mayor – over the strident protests of the Police Commissioner – had called the Watchmen.

"Not right." Rorschach said. "Doesn't belong here."

"It could be some kind of gateway." Mused Ozymandias. "But to where?"

"I don't know and I don't care." Growled the Comedian, whose aim had never wavered from the centre of the circle. "Whatever comes through it is bound to be trouble. I'm shootin' first and askin' after."

"Shouldn't we be cautious instead of aggressive?" Nite Owl asked.

"It gives me the creeps." Silk Spectre said. "I wish Jon would get here."

Ozymandias was clearly fascinated. "What's on the other side?" He wondered. "Who? What could they teach us?"

"What price the knowledge?" Rorschach asked. "Nothing's for free. Might be more than we want to pay."

"It could be some kind of natural phenomenon." Nite Owl suggested.

"Ball lightning?" The Comedian scoffed. "A reflection of Venus?"

"I'm going through." Ozymandias sated. "It's too much of an opportunity to miss."

"No." Another voice said. Calm, quiet, commanding. "It leads nowhere we need to go."

Dr Manhattan walked past the others and moved Ozymandias gently, but irresistibly, aside. "Rorschach is right, this does not belong here." He reached out one faintly-glowing blue hand to touch the centre of the circle. Blue energy spread through it in seconds, overwhelming the red. The circle disappeared as quickly and as silently as it had appeared.

"Done." Manhattan said.

"What do you know that we don't?" Ozymandias demanded.

"Many things." Manhattan replied. "But in this case, you can call it a touch of Fate."

He reached out to take Silk Spectres' hand, and the two of them vanished. Rorschach nodded once, then turned on his heel and walked off. With a slightly embarrassed shrug and wave, Nite Owl followed. That left Ozymandias staring at the place where the circle had been, and the Comedian watching him.

"He never explains!" Ozymandias scowled. "Not even to me, and if any of us could understand, it would be me!"

"Maybe he just likes reminding you that, whatever else, you're still only the _second_ most arrogant dick in the world." The Comedian told him. Then he walked off toward the nearest bar, leaving Ozymandias staring into space.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Day of the Time Mage**

Part Seven

 _12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 10_ _th_ _, 2042_

"It seems we are fortunate." Teal'c was saying. "For every portal which admits something dangerous or hostile, more open which are either ignored, or utilised by those who are not hostile."

"It seems to me that they don't know, or care, where the portals open to." Hermione noted. "I've had a look at some of the literature around Summoning Circles. While there are dozens of configurations that are specifically linked to certain Realms or even individual entities, there are literally thousands of possible combinations listed with no real indication as to where they open to."

"Not dissimilar to the Stargate." Teal'c noted. "Colonel Carter told me that there are many thousands of potential glyph combinations as well as those listed in the information we had. Not all of the addresses we knew or had listed led to anywhere of great danger or use."

"True." Hermione said. "Up to now, we've had eight parties of civilian explorers, ten of military scouts, four diplomatic parties and three salesmen. Oh, and one very accomplished thief named Jim DiGriz who took off with an entire shipment of smuggled diamonds from Africa!

"We also have several remote probes and any number of specimens of extra-dimensional wildlife. I'm afraid the opportunities for bum-kicking Ron promised you have been a bit thin, Teal'c."

"The ones called Sardaukar were good fighters." Teal'c allowed. "As were those known as Tuatha Deohn, and the Imperial Stormtroopers. I have no reason for disappointment, Hermione Weasley."

"Just 'Hermione', for goodness' sake!" She told him. "I'd have thought you'd have been here long enough to sort that out!"

"Indeed, Hermione." Teal'c said with his characteristic quiet smile. "But the reaction of humans -especially females - to my customary manner is too amusing to give up."

"One of these days," Hermione grumbled. "I'll get to deal with a man who isn't a complete smart-arse!"

"And you will have no idea as to how to cope with him." Teal'c replied.

Before she could come up with a suitably crushing reply, the door crashed open and Ron strode though, with a look on his face that made her swallow hard. He turned and said to someone behind him. "Bring him in!"

Two UNIT troopers came in, holding a tall, thin man in a Tech coverall between them. He walked tall and proud, not struggling.

"Somebody," Ron told Hermione and Teal'c, "has been trying to pass uncensored information about what's happening to the Press and other people. We thought it might be an opposition mole, but it turned out to be laughing-boy here, and he's a muggle, so we may have more enemies than we thought.

"I brought him here to talk to him, 'Mione, because your memory is more accurate than any set of notes or video recording."

"Talk all you want!" The man snarled. "I don't have to say nothin', and I ain't gonna! You're lyin' to the people, man, and they got a right to know!"

"We're not lying." Hermione told him. "Not really. The creatures attacking _are_ aliens, just not from different planets, and they're not getting here in spaceships. It's about telling people enough to keep them safe without causing a panic and without releasing information they're not prepared to deal with."

"An' who gets to say what people can and can't deal with?" The man asked. "You? The ones who caused all the trouble? You're just coverin' your ass, lady!"

"I can tell you're going to be a pain about this." Ron said heavily. "We'll just have to take it to the next level."

"What, you gettin' the cattle-prods out?" The prisoner sneered. "Or are you gonna waterboard me?"

"Neither." Ron replied. "I'm just going to have a good look at you!"

Ron stepped closer to the prisoner, who met his eyes defiantly, realising too late that this was exactly the wrong thing to do. Hermione winced. The Soulgaze, she'd been told, was no fun even if you didn't resist, and Ron was in no mood to be gentle or patient. The man tried to tear his eyes away but couldn't. After a few moments, he sagged in the grip of the guards as Ron turned away.

"What the fuck?" The prisoner was muttering. "What the fuck?"

"Teal'c, would you?" Ron asked.

The two guards let go hurriedly as Teal'c unlimbered his zat-gun and stunned the prisoner.

"Has he got any family?" Ron asked.

"Single, no kids, parents live in Arizona." One of the guards reported. "They know he's an engineer, but not who he works for."

"Get him to the Whitelighters." Ron said. "Purge his memory and find him a decent job back home. Flag his file. We can't lock him up or kill him for being a prat, unfortunately. All we can do is hope he doesn't breed. Dismissed."

As they carried the man out, Ron turned to Hermione. "Now," he asked, "who are the New Salem Society?"

 _Avengers Mansion, New York, July 5_ _th_ _2042_

Storm knew the 'Avengers Assemble!' signal was supposed to bring people running, and some it did. The twins Mikhail and Theresa Rasputin – _Mindfire_ and _Transmute –_ came in at the double, as did Storms' husband and long-time team-mate James Howlett - _Wolverine –_ and James 'Bucky' Barnes – _Captain America_. Howard Stark II, _Centurion,_ came up the elevator shaft but not in the elevator, which arrived shortly after him, carrying a grumbling Ben Grimm, the _Thing_. Finally, with a muted pop of apparation, the team was completed with Rose Granger-Weasley and her boyfriend Johnny Richards – the _Silver Sorceress_ and _Quantum_.

"People, we have a problem!" Ororo announced, switching on the viewscreen. "One of the portals we've been watching for opened on Manhattan Island five minutes ago, and these started coming through!"

The figures on the screen were humanoid, but tall, and winged. They wore armour and carried weapons which seemed to combine a pike with a blaster. They flew or walked in tight groups of three and appeared to be attacking people and buildings.

"The attacks aren't random." Ororo was saying. "They've already wiped out one street gang and demolished a crack house and a brothel – lot of casualties. But they're also laying siege to the HQ of Roxxon Corporation."

"Hate to say it, 'Roro," Wolverine remarked. "But so far they ain't hit anyone I'd cry about!"

"Nor I, in the main." Storm admitted. "But they've also targeted jaywalkers, unlicensed street vendors and illegally-parked vehicles!"

"Are they on some kind of Judge Dredd thing?" Rose asked.

"If I knew who Judge Dredd was, I could tell you." Storm noted. "But don't explain it now! UNIT have intercepted comms chatter that indicates they're attacking anything or anyone who breaks rules or who they consider corrupt."

"There goes City Hall!" Ben said with a grim chuckle.

"No doubt." Storm agreed. "But the UNIT, SHIELD and FBS forces in the area are stretched thin. The attacking forces are mobile and numerous, and the Aurors can't do too much out in the open, obviously. So we've been asked to lend a hand."

"Geez!" Ben sighed. "Can't an old guy get his afternoon nap?"

"Suck it up, youngster!" Wolverine retorted. "I get to retire before you do!"

"Besides," put in Captain America, the team's third Grumpy Old Man, "somebody has to keep an eye on the kids!"

"Enough already!" Rose said. "Let's go! Please keep your arms and hands inside the spell at all times!"

"That got old when your pop was doin' it." Logan growled.

"If you'd ever been splinched, you'd know it wasn't a joke!" Rose told him.

Everyone was used to apparation by now, so they arrived battle-ready. They were immediately approached by a UNIT Captain, looking rather the worse for wear. He wasted no time.

"We've got a lot of civilians holed up in the subway station over there." He said. "The enemy seem intent on getting at them, but I can't spare the people to defend it.

"Also the Roxxon Building is under siege. We've got mechs to hold the first floor entrance, but they're coming from the air as well and we can't keep the gunships on station much longer."

Storm nodded. "Sorceress, Centurion, with me! The rest of you, guard the station!"

She took to the air, her armoured team-mates flanking her.

Transmute metamorphosed into the crystal form which allowed her to use her powers. "Where did Logan go?" She asked.

"Off to do what he does best, as usual." Her brother told her. "Heads up!"

Half a dozen airborne enemies were approaching them, carrying a city bus slung between them. On a shouted signal they heaved the heavy vehicle toward the clump of defenders outside the station. Halfway though its flight, however, it vanished without a sound, only to reappear a few yards away, settling gently to the ground. Quantum had 'shifted' it.

"Spread, people!" Captain America ordered. "Let's not give 'em an easy target!"

Apparently enraged by their failure, the attackers dropped to the ground and began to advance at the double in a tight wedge. The leaders fired their weapons as they came, targeting Transmute, who had moved a few paces ahead of the others. The bolts of ionising energy seemed to have no effect, except that the formerly milky colour of her form began to change to sparkling blue as she absorbed them.

Mindfire, who was closest to the bus, lifted it with his telekinetic power and moulded it into a sphere of glass and metal, which he then floated toward the Thing. Ben grabbed it and yelled. "Outta the way, Tess!"

Transmute dodged to one side as the Thing hurled the ball into the advancing wedge. The enemy were so committed to their charge that they couldn't stop or dodge, and they were all knocked flying.

"Stee- _rike_!" Ben yelled exultantly.

Another group attacked from the air. Transmutes' colour changed from blue to orange-red as she altered the energy she'd absorbed and blasted it out as a wave of intense heat that fused armour and set feathers aflame.

" _Bozhe moi!"_ She exclaimed. "I thought the wings were part of the armour!"

"We all did." Quantum told her. "Don't waste your sympathy, Tess. They won't."

"We got more incoming!" Captain America warned. "I think they want to close with us!"

"So let 'em!" Ben replied. " _It's clobberin' time_!"

Things got a little warm for a while. The Thing had planted himself in front of the station entrance and remained there, the bulwark of this team as he had been with the Fantastic Four. His unique physiology was not subject to age, and despite his constant grouching, he still had the quick mind that had gained him several engineering degrees. With a physical power surpassed only by the Hulk, he was an impassable final defence.

Transmutes' crystal form was not as strong as her fathers' armoured one, but its ability to absorb all types of energy, even kinetic, made her virtually invulnerable. Her other power – to alter the nature of any energy she absorbed – allowed her to project blasts of heat, light or electricity or even waves of kinetic force. More subtly, she could make her body white-hot, or charge it with mega-volts of electricity. Trained in Krav Maga by her mother, she was a formidable fighter.

Her brother, Mindfire, had inherited their fathers' imposing size and strength, but was not by nature a hand-to-hand fighter. A powerful telepath and telekinetic, he had little need to go toe-to-toe with an assailant. But his most formidable power was his pyrokinesis. With a thought, he could set almost any material alight – even ones that did not normally burn – and could render metals white-hot and molten. Coupled with his telekinesis, it enabled him to hurl a rain of fire and destruction at the enemy.

Bucky Barnes, once known as the Winter Soldier, had accepted his boyhood friends' mantle with reluctance and some trepidation. His uniform was an update on the original, being lined with Kevlar and reinforced at key points with lightweight ceramic plating. His shield, though still made from vibranium/adamantium alloy, was thicker than the original by a centimetre or so, because of the new technology inside. Technology which allowed him to control the shield in flight by mental commands transmitted through the neural links built into his bionic left arm. This shield could and did cut cloverleaves through groups of attackers, leaving very few standing to face his matchless close-combat skills.

Quantum seemed to do nothing but stand there. But every bolt fired at him disappeared to reappear and detonate harmlessly behind him. Those attacking him physically found their weapons changed into liquid or gas, and themselves moved mysteriously away, usually to somewhere profoundly uncomfortable. Not only that, but the entire attacking force found themselves moving in slow motion until close to their targets as he distorted time.

 _12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 10_ _th_ _, 2042_

The entrance to Hermiones' Memory Palace was, of course, the Great Hall at Hogwarts. She turned left on entering and went to a door which, in the real Castle, had led to classrooms. Here, it opened into one of the main galleries of the National Museum of American History in Washington DC. This was where Hermione kept everything she knew about American history, from Pre-Colonial near the door to the present day at the far end. Muggle history on the left, wizard on the right.

She walked briskly down the hall, past the original Salem Witchcraft Trials (on the left, as not a single genuine witch or wizard had been involved) until she reached the 1920s. Here she stopped at a street tableau where a tall, gaunt woman appeared to be haranguing a small group of street idlers. Hermione picked up a pamphlet from a small box nearby and carried on as she read it, stopping to do the same at what looked like a tent revival of the 1950s. Then she collected a file from a dingy, run-down office in the 1980s before stopping at a modern office and consulting an interactive display.

Hermione opened her eyes, her 'visit' had consumed perhaps ten seconds.

"The New Salem Philanthropic Society was an anti-magic group founded in the 1920s in the US by one Mary Lou Barebones -a Muggle descendant of Scourers. The Barebones family knew of the existence of the wizard world because of their Scourer ancestry, and hated magic for the same reason." She told Ron and Teal'c. "She also adopted and abused children, one of whom – Credence – was a powerful wizard who'd been suppressing his powers all his life..."

"That never ends well!" Ron noted. "If I remember right, Credence created an Obscurus that ran riot in New York?"

"Correct." Hermione acknowledged.

"An Oscurus?" Teal'c asked.

"A child who's forced to hide or suppress natural magic is known as an Obscurial." Hermione answered. "The suppression creates a dark psychic force called an Obscurus which emerges when the child is under threat or angry, and can do a good deal of damage.

"Credence came to the attention of Gelert Grindelwald, who wanted to use the Obscurus to start a war between wizards and muggles in order to establish wizard rule. An English wizard called Newt Scamander and an American witch, Porpentina Goldstein, managed to throw a spanner in the works. Credence and Mary Lou were killed and Grindelwald was arrested.

"It seems, however, that Mary Lou had a brother – Hiram Barebones. After his sister died, Hiram took up the cause, but he was a bit more clever about it. He took to touring the Bible Belt as a revival preacher, specialising in exorcism and witch-finding.

"Nowadays, the New Salem Society is a website and social-networking platform run by Hiram's great-grandson, Philip. It peddles the same old tripe under the guise of rationalist, anti-New Age thinking. But the ones who are invited for Special Membership get told the real purpose."

"Well, that leaves us in a bit of a bind." Ron said. "On the face of it, this is a purely muggle organisation and they're not doing anything that's illegal. We can root out any members among our staff, but we need to take a good look at these people, and I don't know of any muggle organisation that could or would do anything about it."

"It would also be tantamount to repealing the Statute of Secrecy." Hermione said. "If the Society is closed down by official action, it's as good as admitting we exist."

"Some years ago," Teal'c said, "in the course of my work for Stark, I met an individual who belonged to an organisation that may be able to assist. He extended an invitation for me to join their ranks, and promised that if I ever needed their help, I had only to ask. I have been considering the former, of late, and now feel that the time may have come to request that assistance.

"I made a promise of secrecy at the time, so can say no more. Will you trust me to proceed?"

"If you reckon you can trust these people, I'll take your word for it, mate!" Ron allowed.

Teal'c inclined his head, then left.

"Somebody's in trouble!" Hermione commented.

"Indeed." Ron replied solemnly.

Hermione giggled and punched his arm.

 _New York, July 5_ _th_ _2042_

Wolverine had taken off as soon as they had reached the combat zone. He knew that his team had little need of his relatively weak powers, and with Ororo, Ben and Bucky there, no need for extra leadership. He had always been most effective as a lone hunter, and everyone knew it. Now he flitted through the battle-torn streets, using the skills of nearly two centuries spent as a woodsman, assassin, ninja and Special Forces soldier. Heavily-armoured, armed and superhumanly strong as the enemy were, they were incapable of countering his unseen approaches and the precise strikes of his adamantium claws. They were an arrogant lot, he noted, who used little in the way of reconnaissance or scouting. He made sure it cost them dearly.

Still, you couldn't always be sneaky. The young black man desperately trying to defend his girl and their child with an SMG, was wearing gang colours and had a hard, scarred face. In any other circumstances, Logan would have left him to his fate, but there was a kid involved. They had holed up behind a couple of wrecked cars and some rubble, beneath an overhang that shielded them from air attack. As Wolverine moved quietly forward, the man popped up and fired a burst at one of the attackers, who staggered back and fell to one knee, clearly wounded.

Logan recognised the sound and configuration of the gun. Somehow this kid had gotten hold of a UNIT-issue weapon. One with the specialised ammo that could punch through a Cyberman or even a Dalek at close range. That made the job a double-whammy. No way was he letting a gang-banger hang on to a state of the art firearm like that!

"You are foolish to resist!" One of the attackers boomed. "We will not withdraw. We will exercise judgement upon you."

"You can try!" Was the reply. "If you want me, I'll come out. But you gotta leave my woman and my son alone!"

"Unacceptable." Came the answer. "The woman may indeed be capable of redemption if she will undergo penance. But the child is Spawn of Chaos like its' father. Better it should never have been born, but being born, better it should die before it corrupts this world further."

That was enough for Wolverine. He could, and did, coldly judge adults and find them worthy of death sometimes. But kids, to him, were innocents, to be protected at all costs until they found their own path. He was already moving. Fast, deadly, unstoppable. He took down two attackers while the young man blew the head off a third in a single long burst.

That had attracted the attention of some others, who were approaching with more than their usual caution. The gang-banger had just slapped a new magazine into the SMG. "Last one!" He announced.

"Good." Logan said, then snatched the gun away from him and flung it far across the street. "Try to get it back, and I'll kill ya myself, bub." He promised. "Now keep yer head down!"

Three enemies incoming. Two airborne, one on the ground. The guy on the ground was bigger than the others, more heavily-armoured and carried some kind of cannon on his hip, which he was bringing to bear on Logan.

There was an odd sound – half snarl, half screech – and one of the airborne enemies was hit from behind by some kind of beam that knocked him straight down. Before the others could react, the same thing happened to the other flying one. The big one started to turn, but there was a noise like a chainsaw on steroids, and his armoured head was sheared clean off. He fell to reveal an even larger figure, in even heavier armour, behind him, who strode toward Wolverine, a tall, strongly-built woman at his side.

"Well met, friend Logan!" Said Captain Titus.

"Man, are you a sight for sore eyes!" Logan replied. "Give me a minute." He turned to the small family. "Get lost." He said. "Get under cover and stay there until you get told it's safe!"

The young man was half-respectful, half-angry. "I owe you, man." He admitted. "But you took my gun!"

"Ain't yours." Wolverine told him. "UNIT property."

"Ah, shit, man, I'd have given it back!" The boy protested.

"Right, 'cause you never stole anythin' your whole life." Logan sneered. "You'd've kept it, just like I woulda done when I was young and stupid.

"You want to pay me back, don't let me see you in colours again. Now, git!"

They left, the lad glaring.

"I see you haven't mellowed, Logan!" Mira said.

"It's how I stay young." Wolverine told her. "Didn't expect you guys, but glad you're here."

"The Doctor sent us a message. " Titus said. "I take it we've arrived in the thick of things?"

"Fill you in later." Logan promised. "Right now, we need to now what exactly is going on here."

He strode over to the enemy warrior the boy had wounded earlier. He was sitting on the edge of the kerb, and had removed his helmet. His face was humanlike, but a pronounced aquiline, with unblinking yellow eyes, like a hawks' and long white hair tied in a ponytail. He was probing with some kind of instrument at his wound, grimacing and grunting as he did so. He looked up a Wolverine approached.

"Parole." He stated in a deep, calm voice. "You have my promise. I will make no further hostile acts."

"Can I trust you?" Logan wanted to know.

It was Titus who answered. "We can." The former Ultramarine stated. "This is an Angel, a warrior of Law. His word, once given, cannot be broken."

"OK." Wolverine allowed. "So, Wings, how come Law is attacking Earth? I thought here was some kinda treaty?"

"The Seven Seals." The Angel replied. "When the Portal opened in our patrol zone, the Uriel came through with a scouting party. He saw this city riddled with Chaos, and determined to purge it and find the source, lest the Seals be broken. He sent a message to the Gabriel to bring reinforcements."

" _The_ Uriel, _the_ Gabriel?" Logan asked. "Been a long time since I went to Sunday School, bub, but I thought there was only one Angel Gabriel?"

The Angel shook his head. "You know little of us here, Beast-man. These are not names, but ranks. We do not need personal names. I am Raguel, as are my comrades."

"Personal names lead to concepts of self and individuality." Mira noted. "Seen by the Metatron as a manifestation of Chaos."

"Great!" Logan said. "So Heaven is _1984_ , huh?

"OK, pal, where is this Uriel of yours?"

"He leads the assault on the citadel of corruption called the Roxxon Building." The Raguel stated. "Stop him if you can, I fear he has exceeded his authority. There are no Demons or Devils here, but we have slain many of your people, and the Gabriel is not forgiving."

"Neither am I." Logan told him. "When I'm done, your Gabriel can do what he likes with what's left!"

 _Savile Row, London, July 10_ _th_ _2042_

Despite having had the golden Seal of Apophis removed from his forehead when he finally decided to make Earth his home, Teal'c still drew attention walking down the street. His size, fitness and the grace with which he moved got him noticed. He was used to it, however.

What he was not accustomed to was a lack of action, of the battle he had been bred and trained for. At around 160 years of age, his strength and skills were undimmed, a fact he owed to his genetic enhancements and the tretonin that had ended his physiological need for a Goa'ould symbiote. But since the end of the Go'aould threat, the retreat of the Replicators and the decline of the Ori, the SGC had become primarily an organisation for scientific exploration. That, and the retirement of almost everyone he had served with, had persuaded him to look elsewhere. Working for Stark had been challenging, and had taught him much, but it was mostly information-gathering and brain-work, with no physical challenge. He was growing restless. That restlessness had urged him to join with Ron's forces, and now it had led him here.

The shop described itself as a 'Bespoke Tailor and Gentlemens' Outfitter'. Teal'c had some idea of what a tailor was, but was unsure of how the term 'bespoke' modified it. He also knew that, in some peoples' eyes, the idea of a 'gentleman' meant far more than a simple human male. Well, he would find no answers in the street.

He entered the shop and approached the middle-aged man at the counter. This was a warrior, if Teal'c was any judge. He had the unmistakable upright stance and direct gaze Teal'c had come to recognise as a sign of the finest Tau'ri soldiers.

"May I help you, sir?" The man asked.

"I require to speak to your manager." Teal'c said.

"About anything in particular?" The assistant enquired.

"I wish to tell him," Teal'c replied, "that I require oxfords, not brogues."


	8. Chapter 8

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part 8**

 _Karnak, Egypt, July 12_ _th_ _2042_

Revered Master Ibrahim-ibn-Achmet, of the College of Karnak, was not a young man, even in wizard terms, and the Rite of Comprehension is a spell that requires some effort. He took a moment to lean on his cobra-headed staff and assimilate what he had learned.

The ten-foot-tall blue-skinned giant who had come through the Portal seemed to be doing the same. At the very least, he had lowered the massive bow he carried, though the spear-like arrow remained nocked. It was he who spoke first.

"I see you." He said softly. "How I do not know, but I see you. Like Sully, you are not as foolish or greedy as some Humans. Your kind are a secret among your own people. How is this?"

Ibrahim shook his head. "To explain would take time you do not have, my friend. The air here is not poisonous to your kind, but it will not sustain you long. You must return whence you came, and prevent others from coming until the circle closes."

The warrior bowed his head. "This I will do." He promised, then turned and went back through the portal.

Master Ibrahim sighed, then turned to begin the long walk down the Great Hypostyle Hall which had been built, over three thousand years ago, by the Pharaoh Seti I, both to mark and conceal the entrance to the even more ancient College of Wizardry. On reaching a pillar which bore an image of Queen Hatshepsut that only wizards could see, the Revered Master simply walked into it and vanished.

 _Home of the Justicar Samara, Planet Thessia_

"When you said you were going to explain asari biology to me," Harry was saying, "I didn't expect a practical demonstration!"

Atiara giggled as she snuggled closer. "Was it enlightening?"

"Decidedly!" Harry said. "I mean, it was all pretty familiar until you did that thing with your eyes and then..." He shook his head. "Did I do my bit right? Only it is supposed to be a two-way thing."

"You were perfect!" She told him seriously. "You didn't fight the meld, in fact you actively contributed. How do you have the discipline to summon so many wonderful thoughts and memories at will?"

Harry told her about the Patronus Charm, and how the strength of the spirit it summoned depended on how powerful the positive memories and thoughts of the caster were.

"I've always been good at that one." He said. "Along with the Shield and Disarming spells. Unfortunately I also turned out to be handy with the Unforgiveables."

This again required explanation, after which Atiara said. "You know, what's unforgiveable in peacetime is sometimes necessary in war, Harry. You were a leader of your people in a desperate fight for freedom, and as a leader and a soldier, you had the right and duty to use any weapons at your disposal.

"Samara has a human friend, Commander Shepard. To her, and to another asari called Liara, he is the kindest and most loyal friend in the world. But mention his name to a Batarian, or to the Geth, and they would know him as a terrible nemesis – a ruthless warrior to be respected and feared.

"But now, Harry, this is your last night here, and I promised myself I would make it special for both of us! I'm not done with you yet!"

The morning, as is its wont, came sooner than either of the couple would have liked. They showered and shared a quiet breakfast. Then Atiara kissed Harry tenderly, said goodbye and sent him off to Samara.

"Well, Harry," The tall Justicar said, "you have indeed proved a challenging student. But only in that your aptitude and determination have often made it difficult for me to keep up with you!

"I must assume that the mental disciplines required to train as a wizard are similar to those required of a biotic adept. Whether or not that is the case, you have met and exceeded all my expectations of you.

"Now, you cannot take the amp or the omni-tool with you. However, I have been told that you will be given something when you return which will serve to focus your biotic abilities.

"It is time for you to go home, Harry. You are needed."

"Story of my life!" Harry allowed. "Well, it's been an eye-opener and no mistake, as Hagrid might say. I owe you a lot, Samara. Probably more than I know at the moment."

Samar stepped forward and took him in a warm hug. "Farewell, Harry." She murmured. "Remember, your greatest power lies in your ability to bring out the hidden strengths of others."

"Thanks. For everything." Harry replied as he stepped back. "Now, how do we do this?"

Samara gestured him to his usual chair. "Sit," she said, "and relax." Going over to a cabinet, she opened it and took out an object Harry had noticed but never had occasion to examine. A large, lozenge-shaped deep-blue crystal.

"This is a rare item." Samara told him. "A crystal from a world named Metebilis III. It was given to me by a mutual friend of ours many years ago. It has a number of unique properties.

"Now, Harry, I want you to empty your mind as best you can, and simply look into the crystal. That's it, keep looking. Look into the blue light."

A few moment later, Samara lowered the crystal and called. "He's gone!"

Two figures entered the room. One was Atiara, looking a little sad. The other was neither human nor asari, but a tall, spindly mech.

"Legion, can you deal with the synthetic?" Samara asked.

"We can." The Geth responded. "It is fortunate that we were able to access enough data from the Collectors to create this platform."

"You won't just... _recycle_ him, will you?" Atiara asked.

"We will not." Legion stated. "We will inter the platform respectfully in a place as much like Potter-Wizards' homeworld as possible. We will then purge the location from our database, so that it will not be disturbed."

It picked the empty body up gently and left.

"I wish he could have stayed longer." Atiara said. "I'd've liked him to see his daughter."

 _The Deacons' TARDIS, the Vortex_

"All done!" The Deacon called to Sil. "Shut the animus down and take him out of it."

"Where," asked Sil as she got on with the job, "did you get your thieving hands on tbis piece of kit?"

"I _liberated_ it." he replied in a hurt tone, "from the Templars. They weren't doing anything remotely useful with it at the time."

"And it wasn't nailed down!" Sil added. "Now what, Boss?"

"Back to Earth." The Deacon replied. "Time to get Harry here back into the hero business!"

"And we're staying in it this time?" She asked.

He nodded. "We'll be needed, I think."

 _New York, July 5_ _th_ _, 2042_

Roxxon Inc was not what it used to be, Ororo knew. The one-time oil company had spent decades throughout the last century trying, by fair means or foul, to gain a monopoly on the worlds' energy sources. They had worked with organised crime, HYDRA, AIM and even Dr Doom to further this agenda, only to have it all crash down when Tony Stark released licenses for his Arc Reactor technology at less than cost. With much of its revenue gone, and its grip on power distribution networks shattered by a series of anti-trust and consumer-led lawsuits, Roxxon had had to diversify to survive. The company now had interests in pharmaceuticals, media, electronics and finance as well as a thriving PMC arm. That had not, however, changed the companys' ethics, or lack of them. Roxxon remained a thorn in the side of numerous agencies, and the sworn enemy of Stark International.

Still, there were ordinary working people in that building, and they were the ones the Avengers were sworn to protect. The massive steel and glass edifice was in full lockdown, with omnium steel shutters at all the windows. The first floor and basement parking were being efficiently held by Roxxons' own PMC troops. But the Draconian regulation of New York airspace that had begun after 9/11 meant that defence against a flight-capable enemy was in the hands of five National Guard gunships.

They had coped, and coped admirably, but were now running low on fuel and ammunition. Storm triggered her comm unit.

"NG squadron, this is Avenger One, we are inbound. Well done, gentlemen, now get home and fuel up, we have it from here!"

"Roger, and thank you!" Came the response.

"Sorceress, you and I will stay aloft and do what we can. Centurion, hold the roof and deal with any that get past us!" Storm ordered.

"On it!" Howard Stark II was as brilliant as his father and grandfather, but far less flamboyant. A serious young man who enjoyed the simple things in life. A good meal, a good book, a good fight. It showed in his armour. Superficially the same as his fathers', it sported a muted gunmetal and matt-black colour scheme. It also had a new set of abilities, based on Galadorian technology shared by the Spaceknight Rom. As he dropped to the roof, Centurion ordered; "Turret mode!"

Immediately below him, in the centre of the roof, a truncated metal cone some five feet high appeared from subspace. Centurion dropped into the hollow centre, his feet coming to rest on a turntable whilst the upper section connected itself to his armour. As this was completed, two heavy pulse-cannon materialised and fitted themselves on the shoulders of the suit. Now locked into position, he was able to rotate rapidly through 360 degrees to bring the powerful weapons to bear.

In the meantime, Storm had summoned a thick fog which confused the attackers, but which did not affect her own or her comrades' enhanced senses. Gliding through this, she was able to locate squads of the airborne warriors and rapidly condense the fog into heavy ice, fouling their wings and forcing them down. The Silver Sorceress was having fun with an array of Confundus and Impedimenta spells that left attackers crashing into and entangling with each other. Only one squad got through the fog. Larger soldiers carrying what appeared to be heavy weapons. Unfortunately for them, their armour was not up to the job of resisting Centurions' cannon.

"'Roro, you there, darlin'?" Logans' voice on the comm.

"I hear you, James." Storm replied. "I'm a little occupied right now, so be quick!"

"OK, I got some reinforcements, Captain Titus and Mira, and we're headin' for you. But listen, we got some intel that says this is an attack from Law, but not official. Seems the commander of this outfit's gone way off-reservation, and his boss ain't gonna like it. Be ready to disengage when the balloon goes up."

"Understood and thanks, my love. Storm out."

 _There's a lot going on here._ She thought. _Ron did warn us._ Captain Titus, she knew, was a 41st Millennium Space Marine who had turned out to be a TimeLord. Wolverine had met him many years before. The involvement of no less than three TimeLords, plus River Song, in this mess could only spell even bigger trouble!

Then a massive blast of heat came out of nowhere. Storms' fog vanished in a second and she herself had the breath sucked out of her lungs. Scorched and stunned, she began to plummet groundwards, only to be caught and cooled by the Silver Sorceress' spells. Around them, warriors of Law were falling from the sky as their seared, and in some cases, flaming, wings failed to suport them.

On the roof, Centurion, as unaffected by the heat as the Soreceress had been, was alerted to a large energy source by his armour. He rotated to face it and saw a winged, armoured figure descending toward him. The figure wore no helmet, and the face revealed was male, a harsh aquiline with burning yellow eyes and a thin, strict mouth. He carried a staff at one end of which was a fearsome blade, while at the other was a globe that glowed red-orange with heat.

"I am Uriel." He announced in a deep, rich voice. "You fight bravely and well, but do so in defence of Chaos. You might yet win absolution if you aid me. Purge your sin in the blood of the corrupt, or I will unleash the cleansing flame and burn it from you."

Centurions'answer was a shot from one of his cannon that neatly severed the globe from the staff. It fell to the rooftop and immediately went dark and cold.

"Ah, defiance!" The Uriel smiled grimly. "Then let us finish this!" He took the staff in a combat grip and began to advance

"Close combat mode." Centurion ordered. Platform and cannon vanished, to be replaced with a long silvery blade on his right hand and a heavy black mallet on his left. If the Uriel was surpised at this, he did not show it, but darted forward and swung his own blade in a horizontal cut clearly meant to slice his opponent in two.

Centurion had no idea what metal the blade was made from – the suits' systems could not analyse it - but it didn't matter as the strike didn't even reach his armour, stopped short by his force field. He countered with a vertical strike which the Uriel parried with his staff. A mistake, because Centurions' blade was adamantium, and it sheared through the staff as easily as balsa wood. The Uriel managed to evade the blade, but not the blast from Centurions' chest beam, which threw him to the far edge of the roof and cracked his breastplate.

The Uriel rolled and came up fast. Discarding the blunt end of the staff, he took the bladed end in a two-handed grip, spread his great wings and took to the air, clearly meaning to swoop down on his foe. Centurion let him commit, then shot vertically up at a speed no organic wings could match. Below him, the Uriel frantically back-winged to prevent himself from crashing onto the roof. Centurion heeled over and dived, slamming his malleted fist squarely between the Angels' shoulder-blades.

The hyper-dense alloy of the mallet, along with the strength-enhancing armour and the drive of the boot-jets, gave the blow a striking power almost equal to Thors' hammer. The alien armour shattered, and the Uriel was slammed down onto the rooftop hard enough to crack the surface. He lay still for a moment, then rolled over with a groan, his face bloodied and dirty.

Centurion dropped down beside him and pointed the blade at his throat. "Give it up." He said simply. The Uriel closed his eyes and said nothing.

Just then, Storm and the Silver Sorceress landed nearby, and in a flash of light, Titus, Mira and Wolverine appeared. Logan immediately went over to his wife.

"You OK, darlin'?" He asked.

"A little crisp around the edges." She allowed. "But nothing a bath and a change of clothes won't cure."

"How'd you lot get up here?" Rose asked.

"Personal teleporter." Titus told her. "Salvaged it from a suit of Terminator armour I found lying about."

"Don't ask." Mira advised.

"OK." Howard said. "what do we do about chuckles here?"

"I will deal with the former Uriel." A new voice, a powerful contralto accustomed to command. The winged figure who descended onto the roof near the fallen Uriel was no taller than the other Angels they had seen, but she carried herself with an assurance and a dignity that placed her clearly above them. She had the same harsh-planed, hawklike features, but her eyes were a frosty blue under a cap of thick white hair.

The Uriel opened his eyes and croaked. "Gabriel."

"Be still, fool." She commanded. "You and I will speak later. You must be well before your punsihment can truly begin, but as a sign of your disgrace, you shall henceforth bear the name given you by the one who defeated you." She gestured to two other angels who had been hovering nearby. "Take Chuckles to the Portal. I will follow shortly."

The Angels were helmed, so their expressions could not be seen, but the Gabriel was wearing a faint smile as she turned back toward the Avengers.

"That was mean." Rose pointed out. "Hilarious, but mean."

"We of Law are not entirely without humour, as some have claimed." The Gabriel replied. "But I must ask you to convey my apologies to your leaders and people. The former Uriels' actions were over-hasty and unwarranted."

"I wouldn't be too hard on him." Storm told her. "This city is a place of many contrasts, and could easily be seen as wholly corrupt by someone...unsophisticated."

"Nevertheless." The Gabriel said flatly. "It is forbidden to enter Portals without direct orders from the Metatron. It was the need to obtain such permission that delayed my arrival, which in turn has caused more damage here."

"We did a little damage ourselves." Logan pointed out. "You're gonna be short some guys, I'm afraid."

"That is of little moment." The Gabriel replied. "As an adult dies, so an egg hatches, and the hatchlings grow swiftly. We of Law do not waste time on regretting the loss of individuals. We are all entirely replaceable. You did what you had to do in defence of your people. There is no wrong in that.

"But I have a message to convey to you, TimeLord." She turned to Titus as she spoke. "I am charged to tell you that, should you meet the TimeMage called Deacon, you should inform him that the Charred Council has sent word to the Metatron. By agreement with Lucifer and Mundus, the Lord Sparda has taken the position of Warlord of Chaos and united the armies of that Realm. The Council have sent the Horsemen to aid them. They will watch affairs here, and at the right time, will mount an attack on Kadath. But Sparda has said that he will not waste the lives of his people unnecessarily, and those here must do their part swiftly."

"I understand." Titus replied.

The Gabriel inclined her head, then spread her wings and took off. The group gathered at the edge of the roof. Below and above them, squadrons of Angels were heading for the Portal, carrying their dead and wounded. The emergency services were now operating in full swing helping the people.

"Anyone else hungry?" Rose asked.

"You're just like your Dad!" Logan commented.

"I get that a lot." She admitted.

"There's a shawarma joint a couple blocks over…." Centurion said.

 _ _Sickbay, SHIELD Heli-Carrier 'Potomac' 16__ _ _th__ _ _July 2042__

 _"_ _All right," Harry said. "let me get it straight. A baby called Harry Potter – who I always thought was me – died at three months and was replaced by a genetically-identical baby that was you..."_

 _"_ _No, no!" The Deacon said. "That baby was_ _ _neither__ _of us, Harry! My body was just the raw material. People are only the sum total of their memories. I was, asleep I suppose, in Sils' locket._ _ _You__ _didn't exist then, not really. The baby_ _ _became__ _you over the next 60-odd years."_

 _"_ _So there was never any of you in me?" Harry asked._

 _"_ _Not as such." The Deacon replied. "There's always some leakage. False memories, odd dreams. In your case, there was just enough regeneration energy for you to come back to life in the Forest that time."_

 _"_ _I'd wondered about that." Harry admitted. "I mean, I know now that the Elder Wand couldn't kill me; I was its master by then. But Hermione had said that you couldn't destroy the soul-fragment in a horcrux without also destroying the vessel. Voldemorts' soul -or the bit of it I had – couldn't have been destroyed unless I'd actually died. So how could I come back? Nice to have that cleared up!_

 _"_ _But anyway, coming to 2011, I'm with the League, and we're fighting Daleks in Latveria. One of the filthy things latches onto my face and tries to drain me of, well, me! I fight it, and hold it off until Dante shoves that pigsticker of his through the bloody thing! Then about a year later, on a planet called Tanelorn – where I'd been taken by yet another TimeLord – I meet another Dalek. A green one that uses magic and has an eye-lens the same colour as my eyes! Not only that, but it's able to kill Voldemort in spite of the Prophecy, which it claimed still held._

 _"_ _You're saying that this Wizard Dalek was me? Again?"_

 _"_ _Sort of." The Deacon sighed. "The Doctor could explain the technical part better, he's the scientist. But basically, the information that Dalek took from you was fed into the Progenitor Unit of the New Paradigm because the Eternal had said that the Daleks needed to be able to use magic to complete their destiny. But the Unit didn't understand magic – Davros never believed in it – so it didn't know what makes a wizard a wizard. To be on the safe side it dumped everything -your DNA, your memories, your feelings – into the Kaled mutant and built a Dalek shell around it that had a wand rather than a gun-stick._

 _"_ _Now Daleks have onboard software that suppresses any emotions except the ones Davros wanted them to have -rage, fear, hatred and so on."_

 _"_ _So they do have emotions?" Harry asked._

 _"_ _Oh, yes!" The Deacon said. "Intense ones. They have to be because that's their power-source, their emotions._

 _"_ _But we both know that magic messes with technology, and vice-versa. If it wasn't for the fact that my TARDIS is as magical as it is high-tech, I couldn't have hidden it at Hogwarts all those years, any more than that car of Arthur Weasleys' would have been able to work there if it hadn't been enchanted._

 _"_ _So the magic the Wizard had messed up the software. It kept all your memories, and all the feelings you associated with those memories. So it picked up some of your personality traits, as did every Wizard Dalek that was created afterwards. They're still Daleks. They still believe in Dalek superiority and Dalek destiny. But they have a rather different view of both from most Daleks."_

 _"_ _I'll take your word for that!" Harry said. "So anyway, these Daleks, for whatever reason, filter my DNA out from their own and make a clone of me, which they then turn into some kind of alien cyborg, which finds its way to Earth and Triskelion 2. So when I get hit by a StoneHeart Curse, Sil – who'd apparently been both Hedwig and Quoth at various times -pops up and reloads you!_

 _"_ _Meanwhile, River Song and the Doctor go and get the clone and separate the cyb from the org – so to speak – after which you upload me into what's left using the core of my wand, which seems to have been some kind of magical flash drive and regeneration battery."_

 _"_ _More or less. Despite the typical human over-simplification." The Deacon allowed. "You're still a cyborg, though. Carbon fibre in your bones and muscles that we couldn't take out, and all those nannites as well. That's why you don't need glasses any more."_

 _"_ _So you said." Harry responded. "But, not content with all that, you then put me into a gizmo that sends my mind into yet another spare body in a different dimension, so I can learn to use Dark Energy and have weird but highly enjoyable sex with a blue alien!"_

 _"_ _That last bit was your idea, or hers, probably both, nothing to do with me." The Deacon told him. "The asari are like that. Very friendly people._

 _"_ _But you had to learn to use Dark Energy, Harry, for two reasons. One is do with_ _ _that__ _!" He pointed to the Elder Wand, which Harry was holding. "It's not from this world, it was made somewhere else, where Dark Energy is used to penetrate the Veil so that the Mages there can use magic. The core is made from lyrium, or Element Zero if you prefer. Why do you think every wizard who ever owned that wand died young except you, Dumbledore and Grindelwald?"_

 _"_ _Because other wizards killed them to get the Wand?" Harry said. "That's what the stories say."_

 _"_ _The stories also say that Death gave that wand to an ancestor of yours." The Deacon said. "I know three people called Death and none of them go around giving wands to people._

 _"_ _No, Harry, you know as well as I do that you don't need to kill anyone to master their wand. Draco did it by disarming Dumbledore and you did it by beating Draco hand-to-hand. Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, but couldn't bring himself to kill him._

 _"_ _Element Zero is toxic to most people, Harry. Most of the owners of that wand were poisoned by its core over the years. It was happening to Grindelwald, or Dumbledore would never have beaten him. But you and Dumbledore both carry a specific set of genetic markers that make you immune to it. The same markers that allow you to manipulate Dark Energy, given the right tools and training. You, with your nannites and asari training, can use that wand for what it was meant for -to wield Dark Energy."_

 _"_ _And Dark Energy is the only thing that can seal the Portal the Black Council are opening, I know!" Harry sighed. "I just wish that sometimes, people would just_ _ _ask__ _me to do things, rather than manipulate me from afar!"_

 _"_ _Things came to a head rather quickly." The Deacon said. "I'm just as annoyed as you, Harry. I didn't want to regenerate. I'd had a good life, I was tired and happy to go. A final sentimental journey to see my most famous ancestor as a child, and look where we both ended up!"_

 _"_ _Oh, I'm not blaming_ _ _you__ _!" Harry allowed. "You just got caught up in something. But all the rest…." He paused and said reflectively. "You know, after I was hit by that curse in the Forest, I had a kind of dream. I met Dumbledore and we talked about choices, life, death, all sorts of stuff. I know now it couldn't really have been Albus Dumbledore, agent of HYDRA. It wasn't one of your lot, was it? A TimeLord?"_

 _The Deacon shook his head. "We aren't Psykers – not in that sense anyway – none of us could have done it, nor had any reason to, then._

 _"_ _The TimeLords didn't become interested in you until that Dalek attacked you in the way it did. No, it was another lot that did that. The ones who_ _ _did__ _manipulate your early life. It was their messing about that set you up for all this, and if I'm not mistaken, they're being taken to task about that as we speak."_

 _ _Vorlon Homeworld__

 _The Place of Accord is a vast, golden hall with oddly irregular walls. Seeing it, one might think themselves inside the bole of a vast tree, or perhaps the abandoned exoskeleton of some unimaginable coral polyp. The beings gathered in the hall were equally extraordinary. Glowing cephalopods made apparently from almost pure energy._

 _Amid all the light and soft curves, the stark, geometric rigidity and dark blue colour of the box in the centre struck a jarring note. The door opened and a figure stepped out. Tall, angular, dressed in black. A thin, lined face, a shock of silver-grey hair, beetling eyebrows and hot, angry eyes under them._

 _He Who Speaks First and Last approached the visitor and spoke in the musical Vorlon tongue._

 _ _You return. Few come here once. None other more than once.__

 _"_ _Maybe they didn't have a good reason!" The Doctor snapped._

 _ _Beware.__ _The Vorlon answered._ _ _When you returned the Human Gary Seven to us, we accepted your rebuke. The plan was ill-judged and poorly-executed. But if you come to take us to task again, we will be less tolerant.__ _ _You have no authority, here.__

 _"_ _Oh, yes I do!" The Doctor said flatly. "I'm as much a First One as you, Ingwe, and today I speak for the TimeLords!"_

 _There was a sudden darkening in the Vorlons' light._ _ _None have called me by that name in uncounted ages!__ _He said._

 _"_ _But it's still your name, isn't it?" The Doctor sneered. "You still own it and everything that goes with it! Ingwe, King of the Vanyar, High King of the Eldar in Arda. That's what you called youself back then. Back when your Farseer exiled your clans from the Craftworld and sent them to Earth, and this sorry story got started!"_

 _ _All can be corrected__ _. The response was almost sullen._

 _"_ _How?" The Doctor asked. "By going back in time again? And again? Until it comes out the way you want it to? Even we can't do that, Ingwe! You caused enough paradoxes and loops the first time, we won't let you do it again!_

 _"_ _But that's not why I'm here."_

 _ _No,__ _Ingwe replied,_ _ _you come to speak of the Boy Who Lived.__

 _"_ _He's not a boy any more." The Doctor stated. "And he's a friend of mine. The message from the TimeLords is this: leave Harry Potter alone! You've meddled enough with his life. It's done. It ends now!"_

 _ _We were done with him.__ _Ingwe stated._ _ _But now he wields Dark Energy, the Shadows…__

 _"_ _Will do nothing!" The Doctor told him. "The Shadows used Grindelwald and then Voldemort to stir up conflict between wizards and muggles on Earth – to see which might prove the strongest. You used Dumbledore and Harry to prevent that conflict and to build bridges instead. Maybe Dumbledore built the wrong bridges but Harry built the right ones, and Humanity will be the stronger for it._

 _"_ _The Shadows know they lost that game, so they've drawn a line under it. You should too."_

 _ _Allow a Human to use Dark Energy unrestrained?__ _Ingwe said._ _ _No. This cannot stand. We will do what we must. Try to stop us if you can. We respect the TimeLords, but we do not fear you.__

 _"_ _It's a good job we agree with them, then!" Another voice. A tenor that mixed smooth charm with easy arrogance._

 _Another figure now stood beside the Doctor. Also tall and spare, with dark hair and a pointed, quizzical face, wearing the sober clothing of a Nineteenth-Century diplomat._

 _"_ _You're late, Q." The Doctor noted._

 _"_ _No," Q countered, "you jumped the gun. As usual."_

 _ _The Q and the TimeLords are united in this?__ _The Vorlon asked._

 _"_ _For once, yes." Q told him. "And together, we can most definitely stop you. Permanently, if you insist."_

 _ _So be it.__ _Ingwe allowed._ _ _Let the consequences rest on you.__

 _"_ _They always do." The Doctor replied. "That's why we're here."_


	9. Chapter 9

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part 9**

" _The Leaky Cauldron" London, July 17_ _th_ _2042_

Harry Potter had been reunited with his friends and family, and the occasion had been suitably emotional. There had been hugs, tears, scoldings and a comment from Lily Malfoy about an entry in the Guinness Book of Records for 'most deaths in a single lifetime'. But now matters had slowed down. Time for quiet family talk. So Ron, Hermione, Draco and Astoria had left Harry with his children and grandchildren.

The ladies had immediately gone off on an 'errand'; both men knew better than to ask what. So now Ron and Draco had made their way to the 'Leaky Cauldron'.

"Just the one drink." Ron had said. "We'll all need clear heads tomorrow. We can have a proper piss-up afterwards." He looked around. "Hannah's done wonders with this place since the bombing, but it doesn't have the same character any more."

"If by that you mean the place is no longer what is called a 'dive', then I for one am exceedingly grateful." Draco pointed out.

"However, I concur on the need for a brief visit. My people and I need to be in Transylvania early tomorrow, we are assisting in the retakijng of Castle Dracula."

"You pulled youir old team back together?" Ron asked.

"As many as could." Draco allowed. "Miss Rosenberg and Mlle Delacourt are with me, as is Kent. I'm afraid Ramsay and Wayne are both a little past their sell-by dates and Rhodes now has far more important work to do. Kent seems to come from a long-lived people, however."

"Good evening gentlemen," said an all-too-familiar voice, "a quiet moment before battle, I take it?"

Minerva MacGonagall was well advanced in years, even for a witch, but though she seemed physcally frail, and leaned on a stick, the eyes behind the square-framed spectacles were as penetrating as ever.

"Professor?" Ron was surprised. "I thought you retired to Scotland?"

"I did, for some years, Ronald." She told him. "But after a while, the climate became too severe for comfort, and the isolation rather oppressive. Having spent my career amongst the young and lively, I found I missed the noise. So I recently took a flat in Gradew Alley. The 'Cauldron' is my local, as it were.

"But it is nice to see that I can still be surprised. The sight of Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy planning an amicable drink together is one I never expected to see!"

"Miuch water has been passed." Ron remarked. "But how do you know battle is due?"

"Now, now, _Brigadier_ Weasley, _Director_ Malfoy," she chided, "I still have my ways of knowing what's going on. UNCLE may have been absorbed by SHIELD, but there are still people there who know of and respect the work I did with them many decades ago."

"You should write your memoirs." Draco told her.

"They are already written, all bar the last chapter." Minerva replied. "They will be published upon my departure from this vale of tears -though I personally have laughed more than wept during my time here. Ginevra has kindly undertaken to write an afterword and publish the volume when I am gone."

"Why not publish now?" Draco asked.

She shook her head. "A story should not be published before it is complete." She told him. "Besides, certain episodes are rather...racy, not to say torrid. Were I to publish now, several generations of former Hogwarts students would find it impossible to look me in the eye again!"

"TMI, as my kids would say!" Ron allowed. "Join us for a quick one?"

"I can do rather better than that." Minerva said, leading them to the bar. "An old friend of mine – now departed, alas – once told me that if you are only going to have one drink, it should be large and very strong and very well made. He then introduced me to this particular concoction.

"Ah, Hannah, my dear. Three cocktails, please. Now pay attention! Each should contain three measures of Gordons, one of Absolut and half a measure of Lillet Blanc. To be shaken over ice until very cold, then served straight up in a deep glass with a large thin slice of lemon peel. Do you have that? Good. You were always an excellent listener, dear."

The cocktails arrived in record time – magic is a help in these matters.

"So, Ronald, Draco," Minerva said. "let us drink to your success tomorrow! _Vae victis_!"

"Good job 'Mione wasn't with us!" Ron said as they left a little later. "After one of those drinks I'd have had to carry her out!"

"Quite so." Draco replied. "Your good lady, like mine, is a decided lightweight. If memory serves, your sister has a somewhat stronger head."

"Ginny?" Ron shrugged. "She was drinking like a fish at one point. Since she hooked up with Viktor, though, she seems to have slowed down.

"Ah, it seems the ladies have caught up with us. How did they know where we'd be?"

"Where else would you be?" Astoria asked. "Spare minute, head for the pub. Every time."

Hermione was still in conversation with the tall, elegantly dressed blonde woman who was standing by the door of a bright pink, six-wheeled Rolls-Royce parked at the curb.

"Thanks ever so much, Penny." She was saying. "It's a load off my mind!"

"Always ready to help, Hermione." The woman replied in a cultured, slightly husky voice. "I'll contact my friends when I get back to the mansion. Bye for now."

She climbled back into the car. As the door was closing, they heard the grizzled, tough-looking chauffeur ask:

"'Ome, Milady?"

"Home, Parker." She responded. The big car purred away.

"Who was that?" Ron wanted to know.

"Penny?" Hermione said. "I met her at the Stark UK display at the Innovation Show last year. She knows some useful people. I'll explain when we get home."

 _Near the Borgo Pass, Transylvania, July 18_ _th_ _2042 05:00 Zulu_

The SHIELD Mobile Command Vehicle was similar in concept to the Stark International Support Vehicle Harry had ridden in some thirty years ago. But that had been a prototype – this one was two generations newer and even in Travel mode, was much more spacious. Right now, though, he, Ron and Hermione were standing outside it, looking down the Pass.

"How come it's dark down there?" Hermione wanted to know.

"We think someone performed an Evernight Ritual." Ron told her. "It makes sense, actually. According to our intel, the Black Council are using Red Court Vampires as muscle. They're the only kind of Vampire that sunlight is actually fatal to – though it does hamper Black Court Vampires.

"But we've got enough low-light gear to see through Cheyenne Mountain on a foggy night, so it won't impede us."

"I see that my husband has yet another Cunning Plan." Hermione noted. "One which he is not prepared to divulge to the mere civilian he happens to be married to. I hope, vainly probably, that this one involves him staying safe in the Command Post and keeping that hot head of his out of harms' way!"

"Can't be done, pet." Ron said. "I'm the leader – I have to be seen to lead if I'm going to get the commitment I need from the troops. Learned that from Harry, here."

"Of course." Hermione growled. "It's got nothing to do with being a bloodthirsty psychopath in your spare time!"

"Only when there isn't an 'R' in the month." Ron replied solemnly. "The rest of the time, I'm a pussycat."

"So's a tiger, when it's asleep!" Harry pointed out. "But as far as that, goes, 'Mione, you're not exactly dressed for sitting at home and watching it all on TV!"

Both men were wearing UNIT combats, but Hermione had on heavy workboots, cargo pants, a waxed-cotton jacket of uncertain vintage and a high-visibility vest.

"I've got my own plans." She told him, but before she could say more, a slender aircraft of unique design streaked overhead, seemingly headed for the village in the valley. A few seconds later, Hermiones' mobile began to shrill. "Hello?" She said. "Yes it is…. I saw you…. OK, then….Thanks, Scott, see you soon."

"Time to go." She told them. "I'd tell you both to be careful, but I'd be wasting my breath, wouldn't I?"

She hugged Harry tightly, kissed Ron passionately, then went over to a nearby Jeep. Picking up a hard-hat from the divers' seat, she put it on, climbed in and drove off down the road to the village.

"What's that all about?" Harry demanded.

Ron shrugged. "We thought that as soon as our people go into Castle Dracula, the opposition will cause a flood or an earthquake or something in the village. The Count is _boyar_ there, and they know he takes his responsibility for the people seriously. They'd be hoping he'd pull out to help the village, or at least have to split his forces.

"But 'Mione met someone – a Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward – at a Stark do last year. Seems she's an agent for a private outfit called International Rescue…."

"Heard of them." Harry broke in. "They stopped that dam breaking up in Africa a few years ago, and they helped out with the last big quake in Mexico. Very secretive, not interested in money, got some serious heavy rescue tech."

"Some serious intel gathering as well." Ron allowed. "Seems this Lady Penelope knew exactly who and what Hermione is and that's why she was there. International Rescue needed to get hold of some of Starks' anti-magic shielding for their gear. Apparently they had a near-miss due to a wizard rescue team working in the same area recently. Lady Penelope had been sent to see if Hermione could help them get it on the QT.

"So, when I mentioned that we'd need extra support for the village, 'Mione decided to call in the favour they owe her."

By this time, they had gone into the vehicle. Though it was not yet fully deployed, there was a holo-image display on a table in the passenger compartment. It showed a mountain, with a castle perched on the top of it.

"Schloss Orlok." Ron said. "As you can see, there's only one route to the main gate. This road, one vehicle wide, more or less, that's basically a ridge joining the mountain to this plateau here – sheer drops either side. Here's Castle Dracula, at the far end of the Borgo Pass from us, overlooking the only land route onto the plateau.

"Now, as soon as Dracula and his people have the forces in the Castle fully engaged, we move down the pass onto the plateau. We've got SHIELD Infiltration Squads with _wesen_ guides on the ground already, marking paths to key points – ones we can hold and use as forward bases. On the go signal, UNIT Greyhound and Phoenix teams, with light Mechs and Aurors in support, are going to bollock down the Pass and secure those positions. They should be able to hold them long enough for the Mastiff and Basilisk units, heavy Mechs, armour and field artillery to catch up, along with SHIELD Assault Teams, War Machines and the White Council Wardens. Each muggle unit is paired with a wizard one. We won't have long to dig in, so we have to move fast."

"How do you plan to take the Schloss?" Harry asked.

"We don't." Ron said. "Classically, we'd use artillery to clear the walls and the access road, then go for the gates. But actually, all we'll be doing is presenting a credible threat. We want to pull their attention, and forces, out and keep them tied down.

"Look, there are a lot of _Blutbaden_ living around here. They know the country like the backs of their hands. When all this started, the New _Wesen_ Council offered to help. There are paths down into the valley from behind the Schloss – right up to the foot of the mountain it's on and some of them lead to tunnels that go all the way up into the castle. Now the entrances are all wizardlocked and cursed. Right now, the _Blutbaden_ are leading my brother Bill and a group of elite Curse-breakers along one of those paths, aiming to get one of thoise entrances open.

"Once it is, you go in, mate!"

"What, all on my own?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "I wouldn't do that, not even to the Black Council! Once we get this unit fully deployed, you'll be ringing up to an SGC spaceship – the _Bra'tac_ – to rendezvous with your team. As soon as the entrance is clear, Bill will signal the ship and you'll beam down via the Asgard transporter.

"You have one job, Harry. To get to that Portal and close it before the Other Ones get through. Then you signal the _Bra'tac_ and they yank you the Hell out of there! That ship has Asgard weapons and enough firepower to flatten the mountain, which is exactly what they're going to do. There are tons of Red Lyrium under there that we intend to put out of reach for good!"

"What are you going to be up against?" Harry wanted to know.

"Currently, we think between fifty and eighty wizard duellists and about three hundred Red Court Vampires with assault weapons." Ron said. "But we know there are active portals around, which they'll probably open as soon as we arrive. After that, anybodys' guess!

"But leave that to me, Colonel, and concentrate on your own job – that's an order!"

Harry shook his head. "I can't believe they made you a Brigadier!" He said. "World's going to Hell in a handcart!"

"Brigadier?" This was the Comms officer, seated at the back of the vehicle. "Sir, I've just received word from Shinoki Midori, Head of Magical Enforcement in Japan. She says to tell you that Tetsujin took off thirty minutes ago. They've been tracking him and he's heading this way. They've spoken to the PDRC who've scrambled Raydeen and Dangard Ace to follow him."

"Gigantor?" Harry frowned. "Japan is his stamping ground. Are we expecting _daikaiju_ at all?"

"Not impossible." Ron allowed. "But I sense Mum's hand in this, mate. She and Midori are the ones who revived Tetsujin years back. I'd not put it past her to call in the favour."

"Well, every little helps, I suppose." Harry noted. "At least, that's what James said when I told him off for peeing in the sea!"

"Ferret to Trap 13." Draos' voice came over the loudspeaker. "Havoc! I say again, Havoc!"

"Roger Ferret." Ron responded. "Trap 13 to First Wave, you have a go!"

 _Casstle Dracula_ _July 18_ _th_ _2042 05:10 Zulu_

"Just how many of these tunnels do you have, Vlad?" Ken Stein wanted to know.

"A dozen, that I know of." Dracula replied. "There are probably more, but most will be collapsed, or closed off as the Castle was extended and remodelled over the centuries. Some were made by my ancestors, some by my descendants.

"This one leads to the crypt. I built it myself, after my Undeath, so I could come and go without disturbing my living family. Mind, after my grandson, Mircea – a complete thug, by the way – died, everything became confused and the Castle was abandoned. I waited a while, then started living there again, ostensibly as one of my own descendants.

"The villagers and the Szgany Drakul knew who I was, of course, but said nothing.

"Here we are!"

The crypt was extensive, and filled with numerous impressive stone tombs. Draco stopped in front of one.

"Twelfth Century, that one." The Count remarked. "The wife of one of my ancestors."

"As you say." Draco remarked. "I was merely wondering why the shield here shows my family arms impaled on yours?"

"Our families have been friends and allies for centuries, on and off, Draco." The Count told him. "Some of the Dracula have been wizards proper, so it shouldn't be surprising that one of them married a Malfoy."

"That big one's yours, isn't it?" Mina Harker asked. "I thought Van Helsing sealed it against you?"

"He did, and the villagers and Szgany unsealed it, of course!" Dracula said. "You and your friends were kind enough to leave me in that box, as well. You even put the lid back on. Admittedly, you threw it into the river. But the Szgany followed you and fished me out, then brought me back here. They and the villagers bled a pig and mixed in a couple of pints from the strongest among them, and I was back on my feet in no time!"

"And your brides?" Mina asked.

"Van Helsing did me a favour in that regard." Dracula admitted. "They were becoming rather high-maintenance."

"This one has a Texan flag on it." Clark Kent remarked. He leaned closer and read aloud: "Mr Quincy P Morris, Texas, USA. A worthy opponent and a brave man."

"We raised a cairn over poor Quincy, to keep the wolves off." Mina said softly. "We meant to come back for him. But I was pregnant, then Jonathan died young – he never really recovered from the original ordeal, you know. I had to raise our son – we called him Quincy – on my own, and the others had so much to do. We never had the chance."

"I had the tomb made for him, and the Szgany brought the body here." Dracula said. "I respected him, respected them all. I owed him a decent burial, at least."

"Thank you, Vlad." Mina said gravely.

"Now, here is the entrance." The Counbt announced. "This leads straight up to the main hall, which will certainly be guarded. Now after I restored this place, I moved the Security Room to the West Tower. If they've got any sense, that's where their command post will be, and it is the best place to watch the Pass anyway. So that's where we're going. Leave clearance to the other teams. Are our people in place, Mina?"

Mina's eyes went unfocused. "Yes." She replied in an odd, distant tone.

Dracula nodded. "Give the signal."

A second later, her eyes snapped back into focus again. "Done!" She said.

"Then let us begin!" Dracula said. " _Vae victis!"_

They went up the stairs fast and burst into the hall. There was a wizard there, shouting an unnecessary warning, a handful of Red Court Vampires who immediately began to burst out of their human disguises, and two other massive, hulking forms.

"Golem!" Draco warned. " _Reducto_!"

One of the Golems flew into pieces. Gabrielle finished the wizard in a short, ferocious duel. Ken closed with the other Golem, the sluggish brute proving no match for his superhuman strength and speed.

As to the others, a Red Court Vampire in its' natural form is fearsomely strong and agile, but the Black Court are the strongest of all Vampire types, and under darkness, all but invulnerable. The Count and Mina casually snapped the necks of those who attacked them. Willow relied on Killing Curses – as effective against the Red and White Courts as they are on humans. Kent disposed of the rest with short, accurate bursts of incendiary ammunition from his SHIELD issue P-105 SMG.

The immediate vicinity cleared, the group stormed up the stairs to the West Tower, relying on other squads to guard the rear. The Red Court sentries guarding the door at the top were disposed of almost casually. In the ante-room beyond, a single, black-robed figure with a singularly familiar face awaited them.

"This is as far as you go!" He shouted in a petulant tenor. "Don't try me! You don't know who you're dealing with!"

"Oh, but I do!" Draco said wearily. He removed the combination gas-mask and low-light goggles he'd been wearing and handed them off to Kent. "This one belongs to me, ladies and gentlemen." He announced. "I will deal with him while you proceed to the control room."

"Draco?" The wizard said. "Shouldn't you be scoffing coffee and doughnuts in your office at the FBS?"

"Hello, Regius." Draco replied. "I was not aware that the Black Council had reached quite so far into the bottom of the proverbial barrel."

"And I didn't know your blood-treason went as far as working for SHIELD!" Regius snarled. "If you were true to family tradition, you would be standing beside me!"

Draco gave a short laugh. "If you had really studied family tradition," he pointed out, "you would know that Pureblood fanaticism dates only from the Statute. Prior to that, the family were among the most avid mixers with muggle society. Especially the higher echelons.

"But this is neither the time nor the place for history lessons, Regius. I am inclined, purely out of sentimentality, to permit you one chance to surrender. I understand that Azkaban is rather pleasant at this time of year."

Regius answered with a duellists' salute. Draco sighed and returned the gesture. Gabrielle, who seemed inclined to stay and watch, had to be hustled toward the door by Willow.

Inside the control room they found a terrified ritual magician trying to hide behind a scrying mirror. Kent dealt him a back-handed slap that knocked him out. Willow and Gabrielle began to dismantle his circles while Dracula went over to the muggle security system. This was undamaged, but switched off. It seemed that the Black Council occupiers, having no use for anything non-magical, had simply deactivated it and left it alone.

While the system rebooted, they turned to watch the door. It was half-closed, but they could hear the whoosh, buzz and crackle of spells being cast, as well as the grunts and pants of the fighters. Lights of assorted colours and intensity flashed and flared in the gap. Then there was a bright flash of green, a scream, and the thud of a falling body. Soft footsteps approached the door. Everyone tensed as it opened, then relaxed as it revealed a grim-faced but uninjured Draco.

"Very disappointing." He commented. "Agent Kent, Mr Stein, if you would be so good as to mount guard in the anteroom? It wouldn't do to be attacked in the rear, would it?"

At that point the video displays flickered into life. Dracula scanned them with the speed of familiarity. "We're clear, except for the Western battlement, just below us." He said. "There's limited access there, and our people are being held off while the opposition keep a watch on the Pass. We have to clear it before Brigadier Weasley can move, and before the people at Schloss Orlok realise they're compromised."

"Leave it to me!" Mina snapped. With a gesture, she blew one of the large windows from its frame and leapt out. Swooping down in a cloud of black smoke and bats she somehow generated from herself, she swept along the battlement, sending wizards and Vampires hurtling down to the invaders waiting below.

"Had I realised her potential at the beginning," Dracula remarked, "I would never have wasted time with the Westenra girl! You may signal the Brigadier, Draco.

"Then we must set about securing this place. Once the Black Council realise what has happened, they may well attempt to open portals here to retake the castle and threaten our supply lines."

Willow sidled up to Draco. "That guy back there, he was family, wasn't he?"

Draco nodded. "Regius Fitzmalfoy. My half-brother. A by-blow of my fathers'."

Willow badly wanted to hug him then, but she knew how he disliked being 'manhandled' as he called it. She contented herslef by placing a hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment.

"I'm so sorry." She said.

"Don't be." He replied, with less than his usual drawl. "We were never close. My father paid for Regius' education -at Durmstrang, to avoid gossip at Hogwarts – and kept a distant eye on him, but Regius and I never met until we were adults. He approached me with a view to reviving the Death Eaters. Claimed to have a ring and a finger of Voldemorts' that my father had given him. Idiot! Regius was an excellent duellist and competent at making love potions, but beyond that, he had no clue as to what he was doing.

"I asked my father about the 'relics', and he admitted that he had taken them in the confusion after the Battle of Hogwarts, but said they'd been stolen from him shortly afterwards. He was a changed man by then, so I had no cause to disbelieve him. Add to that, there are enough fake Voldemort relics around to make about five bodies – no heads, oddly – so nobody of consequence was likely to believe the ones Regius had were any more genuine than the others."

"And you need a whole body to make Essential Salts." Willow noted. "Can't do much with a finger!

"Did your Mom know your Pop cheated on her?"

His answering laugh was genuine. "Know? She _expected_ it! The Malfoys and the Blacks are both of French extraction, Miss Rosenberg. In such families, a man who did not have a mistress would give his family – and the family of any woman he married – serious doubts as to his sexuality!

"My parents' marriage was a dynastic one, arranged to unite two of the most notable Pureblood families in Europe. Their relationship could be characterised as deep and loyal, but Platonic and, once I came on the scene, celibate. At least as regards each other. My father kept a succession of mistresses, and my mother had her own...amusements. I found her faithfulness to her muggle partner in later life rather touching, but uncharacteristic.

"But we have work to do!"

 _Orlok Plateau, July 18_ _th_ _2042 06:28 Zulu_

It had not been a smooth ride. Ron had begun moving his heavy troops up as soon as the light ones were well started.

"They're a lot faster," he'd said, "but we can't leave them trying to hold for too long before we reinforce them."

"Sir, Greyhound Four are in position, but already encountering resistance. They report probing attacks only as yet."

"Shit!" Ron muttered, then. "Can we get visibility?"

"Affirmative sir!" This was Major Kowalski, who was seated at a viewing station. "We have real-time feed from the _Bra'tac_ in orbit. Not enough detail for the holo-imager until this rig is fully deployed, but I've got good estimates.

"I count over 280 Red Court in human form with assault weapons. No heavies apart from a dozen or so Golems. Also maybe sixty wizards. They're deploying quite slowly, sir, forming up in front of our two most exposed positions."

"So they've emptied the place." Ron noted.

"If you call twenty duellists and the same number of Red Vampires empty!" Harry pointed out.

"Point taken, but it still means your team might find it easier." Ron told him. "Major, tell Greyhounds Four and Nine to fall back if necessary. Phoenix 11 and 15 to cover with shields while the muggles get clear."

The expected attack did not emerge, however, and the heavy reinforcements quickly took up position.

"Get this thing deployed!" Ron barked. "My gut's telling me that the enemy are waiting for something."

"Brigadier, we have temporal distortions!" Kowalski reported. "Two, one each side of the Command Unit. Just a second. TARDIS signatures, both of them!"

Harry was looking out of the window. "That's the Doctors' TARDIS!" He said. "What about the other one?"

"It looks just like this Command Unit." Ron said.

"Chameleon circuit still active." Harry noted. "Must be either the Deacon or Titus."

"Won't be the Deacon." Ron asserted, then before Harry could ask why, he went on. "This Titus, big bloke in blue armour?"

"That's him!" Harry said. "Got a tall, dark-haired woman with him?"

"Yep." Ron confirmed. "Wait a sec. There's our Rosie, and Ben, and Ororo, Bucky and the kids. He brought the Avengers with him!"

"That's handy." Harry said.

"No end." Ron agreed. "Now you get onto that ring pad, mate!"

"Yes sir, Brigadier, sir!" Harry said with a grin.

"Wait a minute!" Ron said. "You still carrying that antique Herckler & Koch?"

"Actually, no." Harry told him. "Just the Elder Wand that apparently isn't elder."

"Here, take this." Ron handed Harry a large, heavy pistol that looked like a revolver, except for the crystals mounted in a block where the muzzle should be. "Stark Armaments Particle Magnum, based on a design from the Pegasus Galaxy. First production run, only a hundred in existence, but they gave me two. Three settings, stun, kill, disintegrate. Four extra power cells, all I can spare, and a holster. By the way, here's your throwing knife and arm sheath."

He pulled Harry into a bear-hug. "Don't get killed, mate!" He said softly. "Three times is enough for one person, I don't need to go through that again!"

"I'd say the same to you." Harry answered. "But I honestly think you'd shove the Grim Reapers' scythe up his bony arse if he came near you!"

He turned and went onto the ring platform, then turned back and saluted Ron smartly. Ron returned the salute, then signalled the _Bra'tac._ The rings sprang up, there was a blaze of light, and Harry was gone.

Ron looked at the empty space for a moment, then went outside. He was greeted with an enthusiastic hug from his daughter and an equally firm one from Storm. "Thanks for coming." He told them. "And thanks for bringing them, Captain Titus."

The former Ultramarine shrugged. "Any friend of Harrys'." Was all he said.

The Ron turned to the tall, grey-haired man standing nearby. "Doctor?" He said. "Again, thanks for coming. An honour to meet you at last. Brigadier Ronald Weasley, UNIT."

"What? No salute?" The Doctor asked. "You might have almost as much sense as the original Brigadier had! How come a wizard is in UNIT?"

"Dalek invasions change a lot of things." Ron told him.

"Not always for the better, but in this case, I'll make an exception." Was the reply. "This is Nardol, by the way." A short, rather plump man, hairless, with shrewd eyes behind thick glasses. He nodded to everyone.

Then a beam of rainbow-coloured light struck out of the sky to hit the ground near them. It vanished to reveal a man as big as Ron with blond hair and beard, wearing a red cloak and carrying a hefty hammer.

"You're late, Blondie." The Thing growled.

"I cannot always leave Asgard when I might wish, Ben." Thor told him. "As Crown Prince, I have responsibilities."

"Not complainin', just sayin'." Ben responded.

"Brigadier!" Kowaslkis' voice in Rons' ear. "Six portals opening on the far side of the plateau!"

"Six?" Ron said. "Oh, for Merlins' sake, they do pile on the agony, don't they? Let's have a look…." He scanned the area with his field-glasses. "Must open into the Faelands. The Summer and Winter Courts agreed to keep their people out of it, but these are Wild Fae. Sprites, Barguests, Bolgan, Trolls, Jottun, Ettins. Bloody Hell! Ogres too!"

"Those are the really big ones?" Transmute asked.

"They run between 100 and 140 feet tall." Ron acknowledged. "Not sure...oh!"

There was a whoosh overhead, then a colossal metal figure descended on a column of blue flame in the middle of the plateau, facing the enemy.

"Tetsujin?" The Doctor exclaimed. "They decommissioned him decades ago! How can he be here now?"

"Ask my Mum." Ron replied. "But be prepared for a long story about ghosts, Cyber-King Dreadnaughts and corned beef sandwiches!"

"Molly Weasley!" The Doctor remarked. "I might have known. It'd have to be her or Minerva."

As he was speaking, two more super-mechs appeared overhead, dropping down to flank Tetsujin. One was a taller, slender mech with a distinctly Egyptian styling – Raydeen. The other was a sturdy, blocky, no-nonsense construct called Dangard Ace. A new voice sounded in Rons' ear.

"Brigadier Weasley? Takuma Ichimonji, piloting Dangard Ace. Your orders, sir?"

"Concentrate on the Ogres!" Ron commanded. "Leave the smaller fry to us!"

"Sir, they're on the move!" Kowalski reported.

"We need to close those portals!" The Doctor stated. "I can do something from the TARDIS, but I can't get all of them. Titus?"

"Mira and I will be needed in the field, Doctor." Titus said.

"I suppose so, but would you mind letting Nardol into your TARDIS? He'll know what to do. Though he might try to sell it back to you afterwards!"

"Oh, no, sir!" Nardol said. "First rule of business – never try a con on an Adeptus Astartes. It's usually fatal!"

Mira handed Nardol her TARDIS key. "Don't lose it!" She admonished.

"I'll brief you over the comlink." The Doctor told Nardol. "We need to be quick to stop too many reinforcements coming through!"

Ron had gone to the side of the Command Unit and opened an external locker. He took out an assault rifle, then slotted his wand into a socket near the grip.

"That new?" Centurion asked.

"Standard fitting, nowadays." Ron replied. "Lets you use your wand without having to put your gun down, and muggles who see you think it's some kind of fancy new tech you're using, rather than magic."

"Cool!" Transmute observed.

"Major," Ron said, "I'm heading for the front lines. You're in charge here, keep me updated but use your judgement."

"Let's go!" Quantum said, and 'shifted' them all to a front-line command post.

"Report!" Ron asked the nearest officer, who saluted.

"Captain Tyrrell, sir, commanding Basilisk Five Heavy Magic. We're holding for now. Individually these things are vulnerable to our weapons and not very bright. The wizards and Red Vampires are holding back, waiting for the Fae to break our line, I think.

"The Ogres would have broken us straight away, but they're tied up with those super-mechs and are taking heavy casualties. The problem is numbers, sir. At the moment, they're attacking one at a time or in small groups. But the wizards are getting them organised by using Imperius on the Alphas in each group. If they all come at once, we'll be overrun."

"Understood." Ron said. "Carry on.

"Brigadier to Trap 13. Relay orders to all units. Target wizards and Alphas wherever possible. We need to keep them disorganised. Deploy snipers for best effect."

"We can cause a lost of chaos." Storm suggested.

"The Avengers are your command, Ororo." Ron said. "You deploy your team as seems best to you, I…"

There was a _thoom!_ and a figure landed nearby. Eight feet tall, but so heavily-muscled he looked squat. Wearing a black body-suit that left his arms bare, with their emerald-green skin.

"Ah, crap!" Ben said. "Either we're in real trouble or they are! Does he understand which side he's on?"

The Hulk never took his eyes off the enemy, but growled over his shoulder. "I'm angry, Ben, not stupid!"

The voice was still harsh and guttural, but the words were clearly pronounced, in a proper sentence, and using the first person.

"You are different, old friend!" Thor remarked. "How comes this?"

"No time now." The Hulk replied. "Bruce can explain it later. Let's get to it!"

With that, he took a single bound and landed in the middle of a group of Ettin, fists flying. Two-headed giants flew in all directions.

"That's our cue!" Ororo said. "Avengers Assemble!"

She sprang into the air and flew out over the enemy, hurling fierce blizzards and lightning bolts wherever she saw groups banding together.

Centurion also went airborne. "Air to ground mode!" He commanded. Missile racks and heavy guns materialised around him and locked on to his armour. He streaked along the front line, dealing death and destruction to advancing enemies.

"See you soon, Dad!" Rose summoned the Silver Sorceress suit and flew off, seeking out Black Council wizards to upset.

Transmute and Mindfire went after a pack of Barguests. The loping, dog-like creatures never knew what hit them.

Thor whirled his hammer, and flew off to assist the super-mechs against the Ogres, who were reinforcing.

The Thing thundered forward and informed a squad of Jottun that it was clobbering time. Then proceeded to demonstrate exactly what that meant!

Quantum turned and strolled off along the front line in the opposite direction to that taken by Centurion. He didn't seem to do much, but everywhere he went, bad things happened to the enemy.

The result of all this was that the wizards lost whatever semblance of control they had gained over the Wild Fae, leaving them still dangerous, but disorganised. Some groups began to attack each other. Seeing this, Ron ordered the various light units to engage in a series of swift attacks and withdrawals to further disrupt the opposition.

He himself had other ideas. The actions of the Thing and the Hulk had left an open corridor to a waiting squad of Red Court Vampires, accompanied by a few wizards.

"Phoenix and Greyhound units!" He bellowed. "On me! Time to earn our pay, people!"

"We are with you, Ron!" Titus said.

"Well leave some for me!" Ron told him.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Day of the TimeMage**

 **Part 10**

 _SGC Cruiser "Bra'tac", Earth orbit, July 18_ _th_ _2042 06:40 Zulu_

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" Harry asked as the transport rings dropped back into the floor.

"Granted." Replied the officer who had been waiting for him. "Welcome aboard, Colonel Potter. I'm Major Adam T Kirk, United States Air Force, commanding the _Bra'tac_. Your team are waiting in the armoury, sir."

They fell into step, Harry noted the obvious pride and delight Kirk took in his ship as they walked.

"Been with the SGC long?" He asked.

"Couple years." Kirk told him. "Just got command of this beauty a month back. From a small town in Iowa to outer space. It's been quite the ride!"

"I can imagine!" Harry allowed. "I grew up in a small town myself."

Krik chuckeld, then. "Here's the armoury, sir. I'll send for you when we get the signal."

Harry had been wondering who might be in his team, but was less than surprised when the first person he saw was the Deacon.

"Thought you'd be coming along on this one!" He said. "Especially when I saw the Doctor and Titus were in the field."

The Deacon nodded. "Your new skills should be enough to deal with the portal, Harry, but if one or more of the Other Ones are already through, I'll have to deal with them. You remember Sil?"

Harry nodded to the golden-eyed woman, who was busily equipping herself with every weapon she could carry.

"Oh, yes," Harry replied with a tinge of sarcasm, "I feel like I've known her most of my life!"

Sil stuck her tongue out at him.

"Play nice, kids." Admonished a familiar gravelly voice.

"Logan?" Harry turned and grasped his old allys' hand. "I was sort of hoping they'd send you along, mate!"

"Wouldn't miss this for the world!" Wolverine told him. "Suicide mission, million-to-one chance, what's not to like?"

"Wouldn't quite put it like that myself." Harry allowed. "But I do see where you're coming from!"

"C'mon, pal, you love this shit as much as any of us!" The speaker was a tall, well-built man wearing a long red coat. He had a broadsword slung at his back and a pair of heavy pistols at his hips. He looked to be in his early forties, with handsome features, long white hair and cold, pale eyes.

"Dante?" Harry was surprised. "Long time no see, mate! Thought you'd be heading up the Brotherhood, given what's going on!"

The Demon-hunter shook his head. "Nero and Trish can handle that. Ron figured you might need my kinda help in there, and if he says so, he's probably right. Besides, I wanted to work with you again!"

"Well, I'm glad to have you aboard!" Harry said. "But right now, I'd better sort myself out some kit!"

He helped himself to some tactical body-armour and low-light goggles as well as comms gear. With the odd pistol Ron and given him and his throwing knife in position, he suddenly felt ten years younger. _I've missed this_. He admitted to himself. _Being in the thick of things._ He caught Logans' eye, and the stocky Canadian gave him a wink, one veteran to another. Harry reponded with a wolfish grin.

Then Kirks' voice came across the intercom. "Landing party to the Transporter Room!"

 _Orlok Plateau, July 18_ _th_ _2042 07:10 Zulu_

Ron stormed forward, Titus and Mira beside him, and the UNIT troops forming up around them. Greyhound squads are light infantry, equipped and trained for fast movement and close combat. They are armed with an assortment of assault rifles, SMGs and tactical shotguns. The wizard Phoenix units are a magical equivalent, trained in short-jump apparation and wandless, fast-casting anti-personnel spells, Such units are trained to work in close harmony, so as soon as they were in optimal range, they loosed a devastating volley of firepower and magic. Fully half of the Vampires went down at once. The rest were shredded by Titus' four-barrelled storm-bolter and a grenade from the launcher mounted on the Greyhounds' light mech.

The three wizards accompanying the Vampires had been able to shield. Not that it helped, as one was sent down by Rons' killing curse. Mira fired her own weapon at the second. It emitted an odd, high-pitched sound and a beam of light that struck the wizard and dissolved him on the spot. Mira grinned at Ron. "24th Century phased plasma rifle -StarFleet issue. My favourite!"

The third wizard had managed to take a decent fighting stance, only to find his spells bouncing harmlessly off Titus' Ultramarine armour. Shortly after that, he was neatly sliced in two by the Space Marines' chainsword.

Ron was looking around to see where he could cause more trouble, when Kowalski came through on the comlink.

"Brigadier, some of the Fae are retreating!"

It was true. The Bolgan and the Jottun -the two most intelligent species – were breaking off and withdrawing. A glance was enough to show why. Three of the six portals were already closed and two of the others were flickering dangerously. They clearly did not want to be trapped in this foreign realm.

Some of the Ettins -whose possession of a second head did not seem to gift them with extra intelligence – were following their Jottun cousins, but others seemed more interested in fighting anything they could reach, including each other.

"Doctor!" Ron said. "Keep one portal open while they're retreating. Cornered men fight harder and we don't need the extra casualties."

"Somebody's been reading Sun Tzu!" Was the reply. "They don't need the extra casualties, either!"

"Well be sure and tell Sun Tzu he still has fans when you next see him." Ron responded. "All units, do not engage or interfere with retreating enemies."

"I'd have thought," Mira commented, "that what with having two brains, Ettins would be a bit brighter?"

Titus shook his head. "Two heads, one brain." He explained. "Only one hemisphere per head, right and left. No direct connection, either. That's why they tend to be clumsy and why only one head can talk, on the rare occasions that an Ettin learns to talk at all."

Ron shrugged. "We haven't much money, but we do see life!" He commented. "Let's get on, shall we?"

They got on. Without the organisation and intelligence -however limited – of the Jottun and Bolgan, the other beasts reverted to pure savagery. The Black Council wizards were still attempting to control the situation, but between UNIT snipers, SHIELD and WAND infiltration squads, and the systematic depredations of the Silver Sorceress, their numbers had been more than halved. This in turn led to a loss of discipline among the Red Court, resulting in a few uncoordinated attacks, which had been repulsed.

Still, it was no picnic, and Ron was relieved to see the final portal close on the heels of the last Jottun chieftain. The creature had clearly recognised Ron as a leader, raising his axe to him in salute just before he left.

"Kowalski," he asked, "how are we doing?"

"Holding at all points, Brigadier." Was the reply. "Casualties at 15%, but only 2% fatalities so far. All units operational. Slight damage to a couple of the light mechs and one War Machine suit out of action, pilot unhurt. Castle Dracula and the Pass are secure, reinforcements arriving regularly.

"International Rescue have now recovered all surviving villagers. Minimal casualties. Your wife wants a cup of tea.

"Enemy casualties estimated at 60%. The _Bra'tac_ reports insertion of special team at 07:00."

"Understood and thank you." Ron said. He scanned the field. There were two Ogres left, and as he watched, Tetsujin delivered the killing blow to one, and the other was blasted apart by one of Raydeens' Screamer Hawk missiles.

The enemies' next most formidable force had been the massive, apelike Trolls, but the heavy mechs and War Machines had taken a terrible toll on the creatures. About half a dozen were left, clustered together but still bellowing defiance as the Thing, The Hulk, Thor and Centurion – now in heavy assault mode – closed on them.

There were still Ettins and Barguest on the field, but they had no coordination and were as liable to fight each other as the enemy.

Storm dropped down beside him. "What are _they_ waiting for?" She asked, indicating the still-waiting grouips of Vampires and wizards. "They didn't commit – unless the wizards attached to a group were all killed – but they haven't retreated either."

"I'd have figured they'd have fallen back to the Schloss by now." Captain America, who had been going wherever UNIT troops needed extra support, had now come up. "They know they aren't gonna break our line. Or are they so dumb they won't move without orders?"

"No, it isn't that." Ron said slowly. "Those are Black Council wizards for one thing. They're convinced muggles are inferior, so they may think that whatever we did to the fae, we can't do to them. But then again, they know we have wizards in the field, so it won't be that.

"No, I think they're waiting for the ritualists in the Schloss to either open up more portals, or get the big one open and the Other Ones through.

"Not that it matters. While they're out here with their thumbs up their arses, they aren't inside between Harry and their bosses!"

"By that I take it you mean they're safer out here?" Ororo asked. "You do know that my husband is with Harry, yes?"

"Yes." Ron said. "Dante Sparda as well, and I imagine the Deacon isn't somebody to be crossed lightly, either!"

At that moment, day broke. Not in the usual way, the sun rising slowly over the mountains. The Evernight simply vanished to reveal the full sunlight of a bright summer morning. The chorus that greeted this dawn was not birdsong, however, but the screams of Red Court Vampires as their heliophobic flesh burst into spontaneous flame. At the same second, a glimmering shield suddenly wrapped itself around Schloss Orlok, causing instant panic among the Black Council wizards.

Ron reacted instantly. "All units, full attack!" He barked. "Let's finish this!"

 _Beneath Schloss Orlok, July 18_ _th_ _2042 07:05 Zulu_

Asgard transporters were, Harry had to admit, more comfortable than apparation and less tiring than orbing. There was still that second or two of disorientation, though. Once he had sorted himself out, he saw Bill Weasley approaching from the mouth of a cave. Off to one side, a group of wizards were gathered round one of their number, who looked a little the worse for wear.

"We're in!" Bill announced. "There's no more barriers any of us can sense. But that was a tough one, very old, very dark. Poor Harding's worn out, but then he's no youngster. He'll be OK."

Harry nodded and turned to his team. "We'd better get going." He said. "If we leave Ron alone up there too long, he'll say bugger it and take the Schloss anyway!"

They moved into the cave, which was high, dry and deep. Gradually, though, it narrowed into a tunnel. Beyond the daylight, it was dimly illuminated by patches of phosphorescent rock.

"Artificial." Dante noted. "Those patches are too regular in shape, size and spacing to be natural."

The lighting was far from bright, but none of the party were greatly concerned about darkness. Eventually, the tunnel broadened to a meeting point, where three more tunnels led out into smaller caves. One was completely empty, apart from what apeared to be a glass panel in one wall. The other had walls lined with racks and shelves, all empty. The third and largest seemed to be a shrine. The floor was thick with gritty dust and there was what appeared to be a simple altar at the far end.

"No way out!" Dante observed. "Dead end. Shit!"

"No rockfalls, no obvious blocked passages." Sil noted. "Hidden doors?"

"We can look." Logan said. He, Sil and Dante began to move around, tapping walls, stamping on floors, examining ceilings.

The Deacon didn't move, however. He was staring at the altar. "Why a shrine?" He was saying, half to himself. "This is Vampire place. Vampires aren't religious. Source Vampires didn't want their thralls worshipping them. For the local peasants? Too plain. And if it's for them, why wizard lock it so they can't get in?"

Harry, on a sudden instinct, crouched down and swept aside some of the inches-thick dust on the floor. He revealed a small section of a circular pattern that was somehow familiar.

Odd things were happening to his mind. He felt drawn back, somehow. Images and ideas began to flow past, as if projected on an inner screen, connecting in ways that revealed meanings. He realised that he knew this process, that he did it all the time, but somehow it was happening more quickly and clearly than ever before, and without the usual distractions or false trails.

 _We are assisting._

It was not a voice, nor was it telepathy. He had received messages from Psykers before, but this came from within, not outside.

 _Who are you?_ He asked silently.

 _We are you. You are us. We were once Borg. Now we are Harry. You have assimilated us._

 _The nanoprobes? You're intelligent?"_ Oddly, he felt no fear, as if he knew the answer.

 _We are not intelligent. You are intelligent. We assist. We augment. We are Harry._

It had taken less than a second. Harry straightened, took out his wand and flicked it. The dust on the floor began to swirl in toward the centre where it vanished like water down a drain. The others were all staring at him.

"This is a Ring Chamber." Harry said. "The Goa'ould must have occupied this place at one point, either that or the Source Vampires copied the tech!"

"Of course!" The Deacon crowed. "When is a shrine not a shrine? When it's a control panel!"

He gestured with his quantum screwdriver, and the block opened out into a control console equipped with a schematic of the Schloss.

"Hmm, it's configured in Vampire Runes rather than Goa'ould." The Deacon noted. "Hurray for the Translation Matrix!"

"Where does it come out?" Dante wanted to know.

"If Harry's on form, it'll be a ladies' restroom." Sil commented.

"Will I ever be allowed to live that down?" Harry asked. "I just hope this place doesn't have a Moaning Myrtle!"

"It can take us anywhere in the Schloss that there's another Ring Chamber. "The Deacon announced. "I'm trying to bring the internal sensors back online so we get an idea where people are." He bent to the controls, singing:

" _Every breath you take_ _  
_ _Every move you make_ _  
_ _Every bond you break_ _  
_ _Every step you take_ _  
_ _I'll be watching you_ "

"What's with the singing?" Sil demanded. "You never used to sing, now you warble away like a deranged nightingale!"

"Regeneration is like a box of chocolates." He replied. "You never know what you're going to get!

"Aha! Right! Now the sensors aren't giving us any detail because they aren't meant to measure what they're detecting. But I can see the locations of Ring Chambers and I've got an idea of the layout of this place.

"Here's our target, the magma chamber."

"The Sammath Naur." Dante said softly.

"Where Sauron forged the One Ring?" Harry asked.

"Where _Celebrimbor_ forged the One Ring." Dante told him. "It seems the history we've been given isn't quite so clear cut as a fantasy novel!"

"Never mind!" The Deacon snapped. "There are no Rings in the Chamber itself, but there is a Ring Pad in this one just down the corridor. Now there's quite a few people and other things in there, plus some sort of energy source. The Ring pad is in an alcove in a corner, so with a bit of luck we'll be in there before they notice us."

"We'll need to hit hard and fast." Harry said. "What about the rest of the Schloss. How much opposition have we got?"

"Not that much, and most of it in the main Keep and inner ward." The Deacon said. "Above ground. With any luck we can be in, job done and out before they even know we're there."

"OK, move out!" Harry said.

Nobody in the chamber noticed the team ring in. Four Red Court Vampires were guarding two entrances while five Black Council wizards were watching three ritual magicians who were chanting and making gestures in the centre of a large and complex circle.

There was no need for orders. Dantes' pistols and Sils' incendiary ammunition made short work of the Vampires. Harry and the Deacon dealt with one wizard apiece while Wolverine took down the other three before they could cast a spell.

For a moment, the ritual magicians seemed frozen in place, then they started to run. Harry, anxious to test his new Dark Energy skills, generated a Singularity -a bubble of Dark Energy that trapped the three men, leaving them floating, weightless and helpless.

"Nice!" Logan complimented.

The Deacon was examining the circle. "This was an Evernight Ritual." He noted. "One we've just stopped. That's going to make life very difficult for any Red Court Vampires outside or near a window!"

"Oh, dear. What a pity. How sad. Never mind." Harry replied in a flat tone, then stiffened. The Deacon gave him a piercing look. "You felt that, too?" He asked.

"And me!" Dante said. "What was it?"

"Somebody – somebody extremely powerful – has just cast a containment spell on the mountain." The Deacon said. "As of now, nobody gets in or out by physical or magical means!"

"So we're trapped?" Sil asked.

"No." The Deacon told her. "A TARDIS, not mine, but the Doctors' or Titus', could breeze in here whenever the pilot felt so inclined. Also, it won't make a blind bit of difference to the Asgard transporter on the _Bra'tac._ "

"So our exfil is still a go?" Logan asked.

"For now, at any rate." Harry said. "Let's…."

At that moment, a wizard in Black Council robes came rushing in. "Somebody's cast a….Oh! _Potter_?"

"Jeremiah Fudge." Harry said with a very unpleasant smile, and raised his wand. What happened next is impossible to describe.

"Ouch!" Observed the Deacon, feelingly.

"Now his head really _is_ up his arse." Sil noted.

"Personally, I'd have cut it off before I shoved it up there." Dante commented. "But each to his own."

Wolverine just laughed. Nastily.

"Well, if I don't achieve anything else today, that's one memory I'll treasure!" Harry declared. "Let's get going!"

The magma chamber was not as big as Harry had expected, perhaps twice as big as a football field. At the far end was the glowing fissure at the bottom of which moiled, not lava, but almost pure molten Red Lyrium. On a raised platform near the edge of this was a glowing red portal, perhaps ten feet in diameter. In front of the portal stood three figures. Justin DuMorne, tall and saturnine in his black robes, Baron Mordo, stoic and grim in black and green and a small, slight, bald man in brown, half his face covered in scar tissue. Between them and the party waited a phalanx of Red Court Vampires and wizard duellsts.

"Harry Potter." DuMorne said in his suave tones. "The Man Who Lived, and lived, and lives again! You are as hard to kill as your Mutant lickspittle there."

"He's my friend." Harry said flatly. "A concept beyond your limited comprehension, DuMorne."

"A concept I am evolved beyond, I think." DuMorne said. "You remain a child in many respects. Now, you will never have the chance to grow up."

The scarred man had been staring at Dante. Now he spoke in a surprisingly deep, hollow voice. "Do you not remember me, Son of Sparda?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember you, Arkham." Dante said. "You forget your clown suit?" Arkhams' eyes narrowed nastily as the demon-hunter went on. "Last time I saw your little girl, she was doing real good!"

"Enough!" Arkham growled. "Kill them!"

The guard charged forward. Harry launched a biotic shockwave that broke their momentum. The Deacon conjured a fireball that decimated the Vampires, allowing Dante and Wolverine to wreak havoc with sword and claw among the survivors. Sil mowed down wizards with short, accurate bursts of fire. Those who managed to shield proved no match for Harry and the Deacon.

For Harry, everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion except Dante and Logan. He realised that he was seeing more, sensing more and making sense of it faster. There were other changes as well. At one point, he had disarmed an opponent. The wizard, a giant of a man as big as Ron, gave a bellow and hurled himself at Harry, grabbing for his throat. It looked as if he was moving underwater. Harry moved forward to meet the charge and slammed his fist into the man, at the base of the sternum. It was a blow he had used often before, and always effectively. But this time, instead of doubling over, the man flew backwards several feet and crashed to the floor, where he lay coughing up blood.

"Shit!" Harry observed.

"Knew you'd had some upgrades!" Logan said. "You're hitting harder than Ron, now!"

That was the end of the fight. The team gathered opposite the dais.

"If anybody kills Arkham," Dante said, "destroy the body. Or at least the head. Try not to leave anything some acolyte can use to make Essential Salts."

"You will kill no-one!" Mordo spoke for the first time. He raised a hand and green lightning flared out of it toward them, only to stop short on a shimmering shield. Mordo looked up.

"Stephen!" He said. "So glad you could join us! I take it you're the one who cast the containment spell?"

"Certainly." Dr Strange, his cloak billowing around him, settled to the floor beside the team. "I don't think we need allow any more portal-opening on the plateau."

DuMorne laughed. "You are too late, Sorceror Supreme!" He crowed, and pointed to the Portal as _something_ emerged. A conglomeration of iridescent globes that moved almost hypnotically around each other, the thing was, at first glance, beautiful. But the enhanced or eldritch senses of the team saw past that disguise to the frothing, formless black madness the globes hid.

"Yog-Sothoth." The Deacon breathed. "Damn it all!" He turned to the others, speaking fast. "Yog-Sothoth is the Key and the Gate. If he gets through, they all get through, even if we close the Portal behind him!"

"No!" DuMorne yelled, causing the Deacon to turn back to the Portal. He gave a whoop of triumph.

"He's stuck!" He yelled. "He came too soon! The Portal isn't powerful enough yet! Come on!"

"I can hold him, Deacon, you must push him back!" Strange said.

"You will hold nothing, Strange!" Mordo bellowed, stepping forward and raising his hands.

"You cannot defeat me, Mordo." Strange reminded him.

"I know." Mordo said. "But I can and will delay you for long enough! Do what you must, DuMorne!"

"I'll deal with the rabble, Justin." Arkham said. "Dante! I brought some playmates along just for you and your friends!"

He picked up a small sack that had lain unnoticed at his feet and with a sweeping gesture flung its contents in a semi-circle between the team and the dais. Harry saw them clatter to the ground, ivory coloured objects perhaps two inches long, curved and sharp.

"Ah, shit!" Dante said. "Not the Hydras' Teeth gag!"

"So who cares about walking skeletons?" Logan asked.

"This ain't a movie, pal!" Dante admonished him.

" _Paidiá tis Ýdras, ánodos!"_ Arkham called. " _Sto ónoma tis Ekátis!"_

Where each fang had lain, a warrior now stood. Not a skeleton, nor entirely human. They were all identical to Harrys' eyes. Eight feet tall and gaunt, pale skin stretched tight over ropy muscle and bone, hairless heads, noseless faces, dark, deepset eyes and lipless mouths filled with razor-sharp fangs. They wore only short leather kilts, but each carried a heavy, round iron shield and a spiked morningstar. There were maybe fifty of them, and without a word or an order given, they began to advance with long strides, whirling the chain maces.

Dante and Sil fired simultaneously. The bullets staggered the warriors they hit, but did not stop them. They produced no blood, just puffs of greyish dust.

"Oh, wonderful!" Sil said dourly, then she dropped all her weapons and vanished in a flash of light, to be replaced by something else. A creature the size of a Shetland pony, with ten, short thick legs ending in heavily-clawed feet. The head was froglike, in that it had bulging eyes and was mostly mouth. But the mouth was filled with three rows of razor-sharp tusks. The creature turned to look at Harry. It's eyes were golden and, disconcertingly, it winked at him.

Arkham cackled madly, then turned and threw a final tooth into the fissure. There was a whoosh and a roar, and a giant figure climbed out of the pit. A twelve-foot high metal man whose blue-hot skin was shot through with pulsing veins of ruby red.

"A Talos." Dante gritted. "Supercharged with Red Lyrium. We are _so_ screwed!"

DuMorne was now facing the Portal, red power poured out of his outstretched hands into the circle.

"He's drawing directly on the Lyrium." The Deacon said. "But he can't overdo it or he'll kill himself. We still have time!"

"We can apparate past this lot!" Harry indicated the advancing enemy, who had already covered half the distance, but seemed in no hurry.

"Can't apparate in here." The Deacon said grimly. "Try, and you'll get sucked straight into the Portal! Believe me, you do not want to suddenly arrive in Kadath!"

Overhead, Strange and Mordo were battling furiously. "Stand aside Mordo!" Strange pleaded. "You understand as well as I do what's at stake here!"

"I do." Mordo admitted. "The trouble is, Stephen, that I no longer care!"

Then there was a blaze of white light, and a new voice spoke. "Keep Mordo occupied, Stephen. I will hold Yog-Sothoth!"

Over Mordos' bellow of rage, a new figure swooped toward the Portal. A powerfully-built man in blue and gold, his face hidden by a golden, masklike helm. Golden light poured from his hands, forming a cage around Yog-Sothoth as he tried to force himself through the Portal. "You cannot pass, Old One!" Said the newcomer. "Even you cannot defy Fate!"

Harry realised that others had joined the team. Beside him was a very large man, some six and half feet tall and built on heroic lines. He wore a blue and red costume with a long red cape. The face he turned on Harry was ruggedly handsome. His hair was jet-black, though greying at the temples. His eyes were a clear blue, surprisingly sad and gentle.

Close to him stood a statuesque woman, only a few inches shorter. Her face was stunningly beautiful, both sensual and passionate, framed in a mass of raven hair. She wore light armour and carried a sword and shield. On the other side of Harry was an athletic-looking fellow in a black, white and green costume. He wore a green mask across his eyes and gave Harry an enthusiastic grin. Finally, next to Wolverine, was a man the same height and build as Harry himself, wearing a black and grey costume, his face half-hidden by a cowl made to look like a bats' head, and a long black cape.

The big man in blue spoke in a soft, deep voice. "What do you need us to do?"

"The Deacon and I need to get to that Portal, fast!" Harry said. "Anything you can do to help would be good!"

The man nodded, then turned and leaped into the air. The Talos, which had pulled ahead of the death-head warriors, was almost on them when he flew into it at terrific speed, picking it up and carrying it back to the edge of the fissure, where he slammed it down. The Talos came up fast and struck a double-fisted blow that threw its attacker hard against the cave wall. He came back to strike at it again.

"Has the big guy bitten off more than he can chew this time?" The man in green wondered.

The woman shook her head. "I doubt it, Kal's too stubborn." She said in a rich contralto. "But he's always been a little... _vulnerable_ to magic."

"He's an idiot, always has been." Growled the man in the bat costume. "We're on the clock here!"

"Gotcha, Bats!" Replied the man in green. Then he also jumped into the air. The death-head warriors, who had paused in their advance when the Talos was attacked, had begun to move again. Now the green-masked Metahuman flew toward them and stretched out his right fist. From the ring he wore came a blaze of green light that shaped itself into a giant snow-plough which rammed into and through the ranks, scattering warriors in all directions. The woman and Dante charged into the right flank while Wolverine and the man in the bat costume took the left.

Harry and the Deacon followed the path made by the 'snowplough'. It wasn't a sinecure, exactly. The death-heads didn't go down easily, and got up quickly, and angry. But neither man was in any mood to be crossed, and the beast that was Sil ran interference for them with fang, claw and remarkable speed!

"Who are these people?" Harry asked, firing off a killing curse without breaking stride.

"Bunch of Metahumans and crime-fighters from a Universe close to this one." The Deacon replied, transfiguring his opponent into something as improbable as it was harmless. "The wizard is called Fate, or Dr Fate if you prefer. Big chap in blue and red calls himself Superman. The woman's an Amazon Princess who goes under the soubriquet of Wonder Woman. Bloke with the ring is the local member of the Green Lantern Corps. Grumpy git in the bat costume is known, would you believe, as the Batman."

"Originality in short supply where they come from?" Harry blasted a death-head warrior into a very lage number of very small pieces. "That body Sils' wearing, Barsoomian calot, right?"

"Dead on!" The Deacon dropped a warrior down a hole and closed it after him. "How'd you know that?"

"Knew somebody who'd been to Barsoom, once." Harry said. "Here we are! Thanks, Mr Lantern!"

"Glad to be of service!" The Green Lantern replied. "I'll keep these guys off your backs while you do your thing!"

Harry went for Arkham. Mindful of Dante's advice, he went for a stun hex, only to see it blocked. Arkham was standing in a small circle designed to ward off magic. But such circles have limited effectiveness against a powerful wizard, and the scarred man obviously knew the jig was up.

He began to weave complex gestures in the air, and his voice thundered: "PER ADONAI ELOHIM, ADONAI JEHOVAH..." An otherworldy wind sprang up, only to die almost at once as Arkhams' incantation ended in a yelp of pain.

Harry had thrown his knife in a blur, aiming for the throat, but Arkahms' gesturing had blocked the cast. The knife now transfixed his right hand and left arm, pinning the one to the other.

"Just because I'm a wizard," Harry told him, "doesn't stop me from using other weapons."

With an agonised grunt, Arkham pulled the knife clear of his arm. "Fool!" He gasped. "All I have to do is die, and I will be born anew!"

He grasped the knife, which still impaled his right hand, with the left and made to drive it into his own chest. But Harry was faster, drawing the particle magnum pistol and firing at full power. Arkham's form glowed brightly for a second, then vanished, leaving not even ashes.

"Damn!" Harry growled. "That was my best knife!"

The Deacon had tossed DuMorne aside with a flick of his screwdriver. The Dark wizard had been concentrating so intensely on powering the Portal, he had paid no attention to the battle. The Deacon looked out over the chamber. The Talos now lay in pieces on the ground. Superman was tossing the parts over the edge into the fissure.

Despite the death of their summoner, the Death-head warriors showed no sign of vanishing or surrendering. But they were badly outclassed. Dante and Wonder Woman stood back to back amid a heap of corpses and looked ready to carry on all day. Wolverine and the Batman were clearly two of kind, creating havoc with some very dirty tactics. Closer to the dais, Green Lantern was creating constructs that ranged from giant bowling balls to circular saw-blades to spread death and destruction all around him. Sil was ranging around the whole area, leaving a trail of twitching body-parts behind her.

"Hurry, Deacon!" Fate shouted. "Even I cannot hold back Yog-Sothoth forever!"

The Deacon stepped up to the Portal, putting his Probability Probe away. This was not a batle that would be won with spells or equations. He reached his hand between the meshes of Fates' magical cage and into the orbit of the whirling globes.

A black void opened in his mind. THEE! Yog-Sothoth thundered soundlessly. I KNOW THEE. DOST THOU KNOW THYSELF?

Yog-Sothoth is coterminous with all of Time and Space, the whole Multiverse. He holds all knowledge of it. Should he so choose, he can share all or part of this knowledge with any intelligent being. Sometimes he will give knowledge as a gift, at other times he requires payment, some even earn the right to such knowledge by themselves. But he can also use it as a way to destroy.

The Deacons' mind was suddenly flooded with knowledge. Knowledge or every single aspect or iteration of himself throughout an infinity of Universes, an eternity of times. It would have driven most beings insane, but the Deacon was a TimeMage. Had Yog-Sothoth showed him everything, _absolutely everything_ , it might have been very different. As it was, the Deacon was being shown nothing he did not already know, could not already recall at will and forget at will. By the time the Other One realised his mistake, the Deacon had already retaliated.

There is one thing Yog-Sothoth does not know, or see. One thing he is not part of. The non-space between spaces, the non-time between histories: the Vortex . This is the structured chaos that binds the Multiverse together while keeping the Universes apart. It is the Veil which separates the Realms in each Universe and the Planes within the Realms, while at the same time binding them close to each other. Every TimeLord and TimeMage becomes what they are by looking into the Untempered Schism on Gallifrey, by seeing and understanding the Vortex and its purpose.

This was the knowlwedge that the Deacon shared with Yog-Sothoth. It could not send the Other One mad, for he was already mad. What it did, for a few vital moments, was to make him sane again. For that short time, he was no longer Yog-Sothoth, the Lurker at the Threshold, but was once again 'Umr-at-Tawil, the Guardian of the Gate. Freed from the madness inflicted by his master Azathoth, he saw what he was about to do, and understood the consequences. He saw Kadath crumble before the wrath of the Four Horsemen, and the First Ones standing shoulder to shoulder against him and his kin. He heard the warning bellow of archaic Nodens, prepared to surge out of the Great Abyss to meet him.

Without another word or thought, Yog-Sothoth withdrew through the Portal, and held it against the entrance of his brother Nyarlathotep.

The Deacon dropped to one knee -even a TimeMage has limits – and croaked "Now, Harry! Before he forgets again."

Harry planted himself in front of the Portal. This close, he could feel its terrible attraction. The silent urge to fling himself through, to walk the halls of unknown Kadath and share in the power of the Other Ones. To become, perhaps, as they were; without care or scruple, following only their obscure urges.

But Harry had been strong-willed all his life. Even as a boy, he had resisted the Imperius Curse and the control of Voldemort. All his life since – the struggles, the triumphs and the losses - had only tempered him. And he had no use for power as an end in itself, only for the good it could do.

He raised the Elder Wand. Now he was fully attuned to it. With the nanoprobes and the training Samara had given him, he was able to summon and direct a flow of Dark Energy, pure and uncorrupt, directly from the Vortex that was its source, and which it sustained in an unending cycle. The beam from his wand struck into the centre of the portal and the luminous blue-black began to replace the sullen red. Without anyone attempting to sustain the Portal from the other side, it spread quickly. By the time resistance did begin, when the Other Ones began to push again, the process was all but irreversible. Harry steeled his will and carried on until the last trace of red was gone, and the Portal collapsed in on itself without a sound.

Harry staggered, he was suddenly mortally tired. He felt a strong, steadying grip on his shoulders. "I got ya, pal!" Logan said.

Leaning on his old friend, Harry turned to look at the chamber. The floor was choked with the grisly remnants of the Hydras' Children. Dr Fate and the other extra-dimensionals had vanished. Neither was there any sign of Strange or Mordo. Nearby, Sil – in her own form – was crouching beside the Deacon, who seemed as weary as Harry. Dante – not a hair out of place, apparently – was standing over the inert form of DuMorne.

"We done?" Asked the Demon-hunter.

"Yeah." Harry told him. "Let's get the flock out of here, and the sheep as well!"

"Logan to _Bra'tac_." Wolverine said over the comlink. "The back door is closed. Repeat, the back door is closed! Team ready for dust-off!"

Sil helped the Deacon to his feet. Dante scooped up DuMorne in a firemans' lift, and a second later, nothing living remained in the chamber.

 _Castle Dracula, July 18_ _th_ _2042 10:42 Zulu_

Ron, Hermione, Draco, Count Dracula and Mina Harker were on the top of the West Tower, from where they had the clearest view of Schloss Orlok.

Having cleared out the last of the Vampires, Wizards and wild fae, Ron had immediately ordered his forces back off the plateau, there being no point in remaining in an exposed position. The Avengers had been ferried back to New York by Captain Titus, and the Doctor had simply nodded to Ron, collected Nardol and left. Despite an offer to remain, Ron had also ordered the two PRDC super-mechs to return to base. Tetsujin had remained, and now stood in the outer ward of the Castle, waiting.

Ron himself had relocated the command post to Castle Dracula, being joined there by Hermione, who reported that the village was now safe, and that IR had provided the villagers with shelters and supplies.

"We are fortunate that it is summer." Dracula had noted. "Also the fields and herds are untouched. Rebuilding the village will be costly, but well within my means. You have my gratitude, Madame Hermione."

After some time, the shield around the Schloss had disappeared. Then Dr Strange had arrived, with an unconscious Mordo and a small band of Black Council wizards, who had sullenly surrendered to the White Council Wardens.

"Things are coming to a head inside." Strange advised. "One way or the other, it will be over soon. But I have matters to attend to." He had disappeared, taking Mordo with him.

Nevertheless, more than an hour elapsed before Major Kirk signalled Ron.

"Brigadier? The infiltration party has been retrieved. No casualties, one prisoner and they report mission accomplished."

"Understood and thank you." Ron replied. "You are weapons free at this time. Bring the rain, Major Kirk!"

He put his arm around his wife. She rested her head on his shoulder and they watched as Schloss Orlok and the spike of rock that had once been Mount Doom first glowed, then melted, sealing the last source of Red Lyrium on Earth under metres of diamond-hard fused rock.

 **Epilogue One**

There was a lot of work to be done, of course. The muggle media faithfully reported that an attempted alien invasion had been thwarted by UNIT and SHIELD. Some people believed it, others didn't. Conspiracy theorists went to town and were ignored except by other conspiracy theorists. The New Salem Website was suddenly taken down and the organisations' offices closed without explanation. Then a soap star and her pop star husband had a messy divorce, and mere trivia such as alien invasions were forgotten.

The wizard media reported more or less what had happened, of course. The _Daily Prophet_ reassured its readers that wizard secrecy remained intact. The _Quibbler_ regretted the lost opportunity to forge a new relationship with the non-magical world. The _Daily Torch_ abruptly ceased publication and its assets were seized. However, the matter was soon forgotten in the demise of Minerva MacGonagall and the publishing soon afterwards of her memoirs. _A Witches' Story_ became a runaway bestseller, described by the _Prophets_ ' critic as a feast made up of "a hearty helping of history as it happened, with a piquant garnish of anecdote, a rich sauce of adventure, and a surprisingly spicy side-order of sex!"

Justin DuMorne stood trial before the White Councli, and was found guilty of sedition, murder and attempted genocide. He was imprisoned for life in Triskelion 2, but died less than a year later as a result of his reckless self exposure to Red Lyrium. It was a fate shared by most of the surviving Black Council wizards and ritual magicians.

Harry flatly refused to take up the post of Minister, so Ernie MacMillan continued in that role, to everyones' satisfaction. Ron and Hermione returned to Weasley Enterprises, "making life a little better every day for the ordinary witch and wizard" as the commercial said. Draco retired from WAND to take up a seat on the Wizengamot.

Harry finally became Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and was made Head of Gryffindor House. A few years later, when Albus Potter left to 'pursue further studies', Harry became Headmaster. He continued to see Gabrielle Delacourt on and off, but never married again.

Life went on.

 **Epilogue 2**

 _Hogwarts Castle February 18_ _th_ _2058_

The apparation was noisy and clumsy, and the two men responsible promptly collapsed against opposite sides of the corridor.

"We used," Draco Malfoy observed, "to be better at that! Are you sure it was the Doctor you saw?"

Harry nodded. "That's how I knew it was time to strike. He'll do the rest. I couldn't let him see me, it was an early regeneration, if not the original, and he didn't meet me until much later in his timeline."

Draco nodded, then coughed up blood.

"We should get you to a Healer." Harry said.

"No." Draco answered. "No point, Harry. The neutron grenade that killed my Astoria dosed me with enough radiation to kill me slowly, anyway. I had perhaps a month left to fall apart in. This is quicker, cleaner and altogether more acceptable!" His eyes suddenly widened. "Is that supposed to be happening?"

Harry looked down at his left hand, which was resting on his leg. It was glowing with a bright, golden light that faded as he watched. "I don't know." He said.

Draco coughed some more, then said."Your burns are gone, and you've stopped bleeding, but you're still grey in the face."

"The nanoprobes." Harry lied. "They're still trying. But I've absorbed a lot of radiation too. I'm getting weaker by the minute. We've neither of us got long, mate. Who knew the Daleks would come back?"

"I don't think they did." Draco said. "I think this is the first time they've been here. This lot are primitive compared to..." He coughed again, for longer this time, and the sound had an unpleasant gurgle to it. When it was over, he leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and said quietly. "Harry, I just want to thank you for letting me clean some of the dirt off the name of Malfoy. But what led you to give me the chance?"

"You didn't want to kill Dumbledore." Harry told him. "Ron figured you didn't have it in you, but it struck me that even then you'd begun to realise you were on the wrong side. It seems I was right."

"Irritatingly so." Drao replied with a faint smile. "Mind, if we'd known back then what Dumbledore actually was..."

"I'd have helped you scrag him!" Harry finished, and they both laughed.

They were quiet for a while, then Draco said calmly. "I'm done, I think. Thanks for the ride, Harry."

A few seconds later, he died.

 _I won't be long following him_. Harry thought. Then he felt something, a vibration against his chest. He tried to ignore it, but it was insistent. He fgroped inside his clothes and came out with the moleskin pouch Hagrid had given him so long ago, and which he had worn ever since. Clumsily, he opened it and tipped something out into his hand. A key, an old-fashioned key. The air was filled with a whirring, groaning sound, and a cabinet appeared in front of him.

A Vanishing Cabinet out of the Room of Requirement. Not the one Draco had repaired, but the other one. The one nobody had ever been able to open. Harry was weak, terribly weak, now. But his will was still unbroken. He hauled himself up and staggered to the cabinet, fumbled the key into the lock, and almost fell into the great, glittering interior. He realised his hands were both glowing now.

"For Merlins' sake!" He muttered. "How much regeneration energy can one bloody feather have?"

 _How many times can a Phoenix regenerate?_ The nanoprobes responded.

Then everything vanished in golden light.

When Harry could see again, he was still looking at his hands, resting on the TARDIS console. Large, broad, strong hands with thick, blunt fingers. His boots pinched, and his combats were now too long in the arms and legs, but a tightness across the chest and shoulders hinted that what he had lost in height, he had gained in width. He looked up into the reflective surface of a monitor screen. A craggy, square-jawed face with a firm mouth and ice-blue eyes, short-cropped blond hair and the familiar scar on his forehead.

"All right," He said to himself in a deep, rather gravelly voice. "What happens now?"


End file.
